


The Moonstone

by tikistitch



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Cracky, Dean/Cas Big Bang Challenge 2015, F/M, Fluffy, M/M, Sock Puppets, icky demons, lip-smacky, skeevy city councilmen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-13
Updated: 2015-10-13
Packaged: 2018-04-26 05:47:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 27,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4992628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tikistitch/pseuds/tikistitch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the aftermath of the bloody and catastrophic Human-Demon War, brave warrior angel Dean finds himself appointed Guardian of the fortified desert town of Paradise, NV.  Dean whiles away his time in Paradise sitting in on boring City Council meetings, partying with the locals, and whining to Bobby for a better assignment.  Until one day, the scheming City Council sends Dean and his brother angel, Sam, out to the demon-filled desert on a quest to retrieve a magical artifact.  And what's worse, they are forced to drag along Castiel, the cute but very weird human who was raised in isolation by a bickering garrison of archangels.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A super huuuuge thanks to [Zsomeone](http://archiveofourown.org/users/zsomeone/pseuds/zsomeone), not only for the usual frawesome work as beta reader, but also for stepping me through an auto repair 101 class while I was writing (poor Dean was probably going to end up squooshed underneath the Impala in my earlier drafts – oops!). Also many thanks to [steam-spectral](http://steampunk-spectral.tumblr.com/) for hard work on some very colorful art pieces of Winged Winchesters! Shout-out to my fangirl buddies on the [Fandomnatural Reddit sub](https://www.reddit.com/r/fandomnatural) – this fic started out as an answer to a prompt about magic and then kinda sorta blew up into a Big Bang. THESE THINGS HAPPEN. And lastly, credit for the DRAMATICAL CHAPTER HEADINGS goes to my little Funko Pop, [Sam da Moosie](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Sam_da_Moosie/pseuds/Sam_da_Moosie), who has many opinions on stuff.
> 
> ALSO: This one ended up a bit on the silly/crack-y side. If you have an allergy to fun, then you probably should read no further. It's the DCBB, so I'm sure you can find some good angst if you poke around.

_MANY YEAR AGO...._

_(Actually it's 20 years, more or less, but that sounds more dramatic.)_

 

“Is that the last of them, Ellen?”

There was a horrible _“squiiiiiick”_ sound as the angel warrior pulled her flaming sword out of the thorax of a rather large demon. She watched the monstrous beast collapse to the ground in a tangle of spidery limbs and green blood. She blew a puff of air to extinguish the holy fire that glowed blue-green on the sword's polished surface. “I think so,” she said, wrinkling her nose at the demon goo leaking onto the floor.

Rufus stood, hands on hips, surveying his bloody handiwork. “That is one fuckload of dead demons,” he said, giving his magnificent slivery wings a good, satisfied flap.

“Language,” scolded Ellen. She leaned her sword against the carapace of the slain demon and fussed with a blood stain on her robe. “I'll need some hot water for this.”

“Cold water – protein stains!” advised her lieutenant, who was still taking in the scenery. “So, this is the Citadel?” Rufus did a full 360 degree turn, shining feathers fluffing, staring up at the lofty, frescoed ceiling many meters above his head. The Citadel was a fortress-like complex built high on the hill above the city. Although abandoned early on in the Human-Demon Wars, it was still an architectural splendor, and contained many treasures, as well as an extensive library. “Impressive. For a bunch of humans, I mean,” he said, waving a dismissive hand.

“I suppose so.”

“And is the object secure?”

“I sent Garth to check,” said Ellen.

Rufus stopped taking in the scenery and instead fixed his attention on Ellen. He ruffled up his wings at his captain. “You sent Garth?”

“Well, it was better than letting him fight,” muttered Ellen, spitting on the hem of her robe and working at it with a finger. “Nothing gets out demon blood,” she lamented, staring at the green stain at the edge of her saffron garment.

“Cold water: that's your ticket!”

“Hey, lookee what I found!” came Garth's voice, echoing through the high chamber. He straggled in cradling an oddly-shaped cloth bundle.

“Is that it?” asked Rufus. He eagerly yanked the bundle from Garth and pulled away the cloth, but then drew back when confronted with a pair of wide blue eyes staring back at him. “What is this supposed to be?” he pleaded, now holding the wretched thing at arm's length.

“Aw,” said Garth, retrieving the child and setting him on his feet, clutching one chubby little hand. “Little feller. Found him runnin' around. Probably lost his Mama an' Daddy!”

“Garth, we don't have time for you and your strays right now,” Ellen scolded.

“This ain't a nursery school, Garth!” Rufus added.

Garth's sandy-feathered wings drooped. “But Ellen, look at him! He's such a cute little nugget.” He gently pointed a wing tip into the face and the child sneezed.

“Soldier, what about the Moonstone?” demanded Rufus.

“Well, it's right here,” said Garth, pulling a small, round stone from one of the pockets in his robe. It was a very dark purple, dark as the night sky. “What do you think I am?”

Rufus and Ellen exchanged a glance. Frowning, Ellen approached the child, carefully pulling back the cloth. There was a note pinned to his shirt. She plucked it out. “This says 'Castiel' in the human language,” she told them.

“Is that his name? Is that how humans name their fledglings?” asked Rufus. “It sounds like a patent medicine. Neck pain – try Castiel!”

There were noises outside, rattling and rustling and a low wailing. “I think it's another wave of attacks coming,” warned Ellen. 

“Dammit, they have us cornered!” said Rufus.

“Rufus, we'll deal with it. Garth, find some place safe for the child and come along with us.”

Rufus and Ellen spread their wings and flew off. “Well, let's get you sitch-iated, little nugget,” Garth told his new friend. He pulled over a monitor, grabbing a DVD off the shelf nearby. “Now, you just sit tight, and they'll tell you a real good story!” he enthused. He pressed the DVD into the tray and prepared to fly off, but then hesitated. He pulled the moonstone out of his pocket once again. “And why don't you hold onto this for safekeeping?” he asked, placing the smooth little stone in the child's chubby hand, patting his head. “Now, be good!” And with that, Garth flapped his sandy-feathered wings and flew off.

The child, Castiel, stared at the monitor with wide blue eyes. He turned the little stone over in his small hands and then, as a child will, began to suck on it.

Images of warring humans, demons and angels began to flicker in front of him on the screen.

 _“The Human/Demon Wars began in the year 2025,”_ boomed the stentorian narrator. _“Humanity incurred heavy losses. Chaos was upon the earth, with billions and billions among the dead.”_

_“But then, just as all seemed lost, the very gates of Heaven opened, and the angels descended to give aid to the wretched.”_ Public domain images of warrior angels flashed by, accompanied by stirring religious music.

Little Castiel considered this. He yawned, and continued to gnaw on his pretty purple stone. Finally, blinking blue eyes at the flickering images of death and destruction, he curled up in the blankets, and bedded down for a nap.

 

Castiel awoke suddenly as all the lights and electrical equipment abruptly flipped off, and then, after a pause, snapped back on. He sat up, blinking, as the three winged beings came storming back into his presence.

“What do you mean, it doesn't open from the inside?” shouted Rufus.

“It don't open from the inside,” stated Garth.

“Garth, why didn't you tell us that before we locked ourselves in here?” demanded Ellen.

“You didn't ask!” Garth retorted.

Rufus rolled his eyes, and Ellen flared up her mighty white wings.

“Now, don't get upset, you two, you'll scare the young'un!” scolded Garth, sweeping little Castiel into his arms. “How are ya, little nugget? Did you have a good story watchin' time?”

“God dammit!”

“Language, Rufus,” fussed Ellen, though her wings were still at attention. “I'm certain Heaven will send out a patrol to free us in due time.”

“Due time? How long is that?” stormed Rufus. “You know what a mess it is up at headquarters!”

“I'm certain it won't be long. And besides, we should cherish this victory. We found the Moonstone before the enemy!”

Rufus looked mighty skeptical at that. “Yeah, I guess so. Can I take another look at it, Garth?” Rufus prided himself as an expert in magical objects.

“A look at what?” asked Garth, who was busy dandling Castiel.

“The Moonstone!”

“Oh, yeah,” said Garth. “That. Where did you put it, little guy?” he asked the boy.

As if in answer, little Castiel belched.

 

_THE PRESENT DAY_

_(Yes, this is a time jump, please do follow along.)_

_Paradise, NV_

 

Dean awoke, spitting red feathers.

Pulling his somewhat drooly wingtip out of his mouth, he tried to sit up, but found himself entangled with a comely young lady who was using his left wing as a comforter. Swearing under his breath, Dean drew the offending appendage out of her vise-like grasp, and finally managed to sit up on the bed. He heard a sigh, and barely missed treading on an attractive young man, who, like the lady in his bed, was fast asleep, this one snuggled up on the rug. The floor of his bedroom was in fact occupied by several other party attendees from last night.

Tip-toeing around over sleeping bodies as if he was playing a mad game of hopscotch, Dean managed to get himself and his wings across the floor and into his bathroom. After checking the tub for any occupants (they sometimes crawled in there to snooze – he had a nice big bathtub in case anybody wanted to share a hot bath) he turned and confronted his reflection in the mirror, red-eyed and red winged.

“Get these things offa me!” he grumbled, spying the somewhat disheveled state of his wings. He disliked having them out when he was indoors, as they had a tendency to raise dust and knock over small objects. And, to be honest, among angelkind it was considered quite rude to have them out unless you were fighting or flying. But the ladies liked them, and who was he to refuse a lady? And, you know, the gentlemen too. Ladies and gentlemen liked Dean.

Everybody liked Dean. Except, perhaps, Dean.

He splashed some water on his face, blinked, and then, concentrating, managed to fold the wings away to the astral plane. He stretched out his aching back muscles. “Ah! Better!”

Then his phone rang, and things were not better at all. “What is it, Rachel?” Dean sighed.

“You were supposed to be here five minutes ago,” a grouchy female voice snapped.

“Yeah, well, I’m … _busy_. You know. Doin’ angel stuff!”

“Guardian, you have five minutes, starting right … now!”

“Dammit Rachel!” But she had already hung up. Cursing, any remnants of his good mood over ditching the wings dissipated, Dean stumbled into the stall for a quick shower and then donned his formal robes. He was on his way out the door when he felt a hand grip his ankle.

“Oh, uh,” said Dean, ready to apologize for stepping on somebody’s neck. 

A little blonde who had been sleeping on his floor was gazing reverently up at him. “Dean.”

“Uh. Yeah, baby-“

_“Cathy.”_

“Yeah, Cathy. That’s right. You're beautiful, Cathy.”

She scooched herself into a semi-sitting position, still on the floor, still gazing raptly upwards. “I was so grateful to spend time with our beloved Guardian Angel,” she swooned.

“Yeah, any time, baby.”

She mimed a “call me” as Dean shook his leg free and hastened out of the room. His apartment was a deluxe suite in what had once been a luxury hotel. He shambled into the elevator, tugging at the neck of his itchy robe, and was confronted once again with himself in the mirrored door. He looked like an ass. The doors slid open in the lobby, and he was facing not only Rachel but Hester, both glaring daggers at him. _Great: double-teamed!_ he thought, his head throbbing from the aftermath of his important angel business the past night.

“I’ll supervise clearing the room,” declared Rachel, who stormed onto the elevator as Hester continued to glare. Inias, Hester’s assistant, handed a paper cup of coffee over to Dean, for which Dean uttered a silent prayer to the saint of caffeine.

“You’re late,” Hester reminded him as they marched double-time across the lobby.

“Look, it’s just another ceremony, don’t get bent outta shape,” Dean told her as he sipped coffee, nodding gratefully to Inias. Mornings like this, he needed the stuff in an IV drip.

“This city was damned the moment we appointed you as our Guardian Angel,” Hester declared. Dean looked around, bleary-eyed. His eyes searched for a window, though there were none to be had – only mirrors, and his own tired visage, staring back at him.

They arrived backstage at the grand ballroom where today’s whatever-the-hell was happening (Dean didn’t really keep track any more). He noticed the City Council was already up on stage – Metatron, Zachariah, Naomi and Jessica. He smiled at Jess, and she smiled back, bless her. She had inherited her position on the council when her old man had his stroke. Some claimed that it was not a stroke at all – rather, he had actually been poisoned by another Council member. It was anybody’s guess who, as the rest of that lot were all snakes. Dean had plenty of reason to notice all of this because, as Guardian, he was forced to sit through every single endless boring City Council meeting. 

Jess was great, though: she was smart as a whip, and wouldn't back down when the other three disagreed and tried to bully her, which was often. Dean had advised Sam that his best course of action would be to scoop her up and fly her on down to the little White Wedding Chapel on the Strip. But of course, as Bobby often claimed, Sam was one prime idjit.

Deep in thought, Dean started to mount the stage, but was yanked back by Hester. 

“Wings!” she declared.

“Do I have to?” Dean whined as Inias grabbed away his empty coffee cup. Hester fixed him with the stink eye while Inias shuffled his feet and shrugged. Dean sighed and, with a twitch of his shoulders, manifested his broad wings once again. 

“You really oughta get those things preened,” said Hester, squinting at the sad state of Dean's somewhat frowzy red feathers. Dean, frowning back, drew in his wings.

“And now,” said Zachariah, his best fake smile pasted on, “our city’s beloved Guardian Angel, Dean!”

Ragged plumage and all, Dean mounted the stage, to thunderous applause from the good citizens of Paradise.

 

_MEANWHILE, BACK AT THE CITADEL...._

_(Yeah, they're still locked in.)_

 

“Yeah, right there! That’s the spot.” Garth leaned back while Castiel patiently worked slim-fingered hands through a tangled little knot of feathers on his left wing. Rufus, splayed out on the couch across the room, snored contentedly. 

Garth glimpsed over at the book that was opened on the floor. “Whatcha readin’ there, kiddo?”

 _“Sun Tzu’s Art of Warfare,”_ Castiel replied, in the portentous tones of the guy who narrated the history documentaries. Castiel had grown into a tall, serious young man. Too serious, in Garth's opinion.

“Don’t you wanna read something lighter? Like a nice cowboy story?”

“When at last we are returned to the world,” Castiel reasoned, “our assistance will be required in the Human-Demon War!”

“Well, I guess so, but don’t you wanna read about cowboys an’ injuns?”

“Those stories contain a stereotypical and demeaning view of Native Americans,” Cast told him primly.

Garth frowned and put down the book. Ellen entered, wings up. “Did you hear that?”

“Hear what?” inquired Garth.

Cas immediately paused in grooming Garth’s feathers and peered around. His eyes grew wide. “There is someone outside,” he said.

Ellen kicked Rufus’s feet. “Hey, wake up, Sunshine.”

“Aw, don’t bother waking him,” said Garth. “It’s probably just them coyotes again.”

“It is not coyotes,” said Cas, as Rufus blinked and snorted. 

“Wake the hell up!” said Ellen. “We got company!”

“I wasn’t sleeping!” Rufus protested. “Just resting my eyes.”

The angels grabbed their swords and everyone hastened through the cavernous main chamber of Citadel towards the front door, where Ellen had heard noises from without. When he was a child, Castiel had run through this light, airy space, often chasing after Garth. It was high enough for an angel to take flight, so it was a good place to exercise their wings, although Rufus had gotten a tad lazy of late (at least in Ellen’s opinion). 

They crowded around the main doorway. It was fairly obvious that there was a noisy group of beings gathered just outside, though human or angel or demon, it was impossible to tell from the silhouetted shadows and muffled voices. 

“Do you think they know the way in?” asked Garth.

“Depends on whether they’ve got enough magic mojo, I reckon,” said Rufus, who was unfurling a silvery wing where it had fallen asleep on account of him lying on it funny. 

“Get your swords ready!” ordered Ellen. “Castiel?” Castiel nodded. Alone among them, he did not carry a sword. He had other defenses.

Suddenly, a voice broke through, speaking in a combination of Latin and Enochian. There was a crackle, and a whiff of ozone – a sure sign that magic was taking place. 

The doors blew open, and for the first time in decades, fresh air rushed into the Citadel. “Castiel!” ordered Ellen.

Cas threw up a hand, and suddenly a translucent disc - constructed of light and swirling air - was hanging in the air just inside the doors.

A tall figure came striding through the doorway and stood just out of view, behind Castiel’s magical shield. 

“Who goes there?” demanded Ellen, raising her sword and setting it aflame.

“Demon or angel?” added Rufus. “Declare yourself!”

As if in answer, a pair of glorious, dark-feathered wings unfolded behind Cas's magical shield. “Angel,” came proud reply.

“Castiel,” said Ellen, “Stand down!” But Castiel was already lowering his hand. The magical shield dissipated, and he and the angels covered their eyes to peer curiously the tall figure standing in their doorway.

“Hey guys,” said the tall angel, turning back towards the small group gathered outside the door, “you gotta check this out!”

 

_PARADISE_

_(Some time later that same day, though Dean is still awfully grumpy.)_

 

Dean got back to his suite after the ceremony had finally ended and was quite relieved to see that Rachel had indeed cleared it of party guests. He shut himself in the bathroom, turned the shower on full blast, and then dialed his phone – it was a little paranoid, but in this city, you never could tell who might be listening in.

“Bobby!”

“Dean? What's goin' on with you, boy?” answered a crusty voice. “You get yourself to that ceremony this mornin', like you were supposed to?”

Dean gripped the phone tighter, as if it would help. “Yeah, yeah. Bobby, you gotta get me outta here!”

“Outta where, exactly? The bathroom? You lock yourself in again?”

Sighing, Dean reached in and turned off the shower. “Ha-ha. Bobby, I gotta get out of this city.”

“You can't just take off! You're their Guardian Angel of Paradise, boy!”

“Yeah, and it's driving me crazy! All these rotten ceremonies. Trapped inside all day. And they always want me to have my wings out! They don't even know it's rude.”

“Well, they're just human, what do you expect? Now, you gotta stay there, to marshal the forces in case of a demon attack.”

“Bobby, you know damn well there hasn't been a demon sighted in these parts for over a year! Maybe two!”

Dean heard the chuckling over the line. Fucking Bobby. “Well, congratulations, you're doin' a heck of a job, soldier!”

“Bobby, I'm tired of this.”

“Well, that ain't what I been hearing.”

Dean looked in the mirror. Even though it was steamed up from the shower, he could easily see the blush rising on his cheeks. “OK, yeah, I get to partying sometimes.”

“And drinkin'. And smokin'. And Lord Our Daddy knows what else.”

“Bobby-”

Dean drew silent as he heard the old angel's chair creak when, he supposed, Bobby leaned back. They had had this conversation many times before. “Son, I don't have time for this now! I got another call comin' in. You just sit tight for now. And keep your eyes and ears open, and your feathers down.”

“Bobby-” But he had already hung up. 

Dean tossed the phone down on the counter and glared at himself in the mirror. He was still wearing his stupid formal robes, and his stupid wings were out. He looked like an idiot – not anything like a proud warrior angel.

Cursing, he stormed back out into the bedroom, where he was surprised to find a guest flying in through the large double doors to the balcony. The angel paused, out of breath.

“Sammy!” said Dean, rushing to greet him. “What's going on, little brother?” Angels were not technically related in the same way as humans, but Sam and Dean had been fledglings together, so Dean genuinely considered Sam more fondly than any of the other angels (who could be assholes), as a human might a younger sibling.

Sam was grinning from ear to ear. “Hey, Dean. Get this-”

“You finally make a date with Jess?”

“What? Who?” Sam's face was pink, but not from the flight. “Oh. Uh.” He scratched the back of his neck, scrunched his wings in, and tried to look anywhere but at Dean. 

“Well, get on the stick. She's real pretty!”

“Dean-”

“If you're not gonna get together with Jess, then why don't you hang out with me some time? I've been partying with some beautiful babes.”

Sam concentrated on folding in his wings. “Dean, I don't care about any beautiful babes.”

“What? Everyone cares about beautiful babes!”

“I found the Moonstone!” Sam blurted.

“Oh. The Moonstone! Hey, good deal. Yeah.”

Sam shrugged his broad shoulders and squinted at Dean. “And, you have no idea what that is, do you?”

“Of course I do, Sammy! It's … _the Moonstone!_ ”

Grinning, Sam sighed good-naturedly. “Dean, it's a magical object. It might be the key to the war with the demons!”

“So, where did you find it? Had it rolled behind the couch?”

Sam sat down on the Dean's rumpled bed, curling up a long leg. The gesture was very human. Sam and Dean had spent a lot of their young lives around humans, what with the Human-Demon Wars, so it had evidently rubbed off. “Actually, something like that. We sent out a search party a long time ago to seek it out, And evidently they found it at the Citadel.”

Sitting down beside Sam, Dean searched his memories. “The Citadel? That sounds familiar.”

“Yeah! Turns out they were attacked and surrounded by demons. So get this: they sealed themselves up inside! They've been gone for 20 years!”

Dean snorted. “And let me guess: nobody bothered to check up on them?”

Dean and Sam shared a smile. Angels were definitely assholes. 

“So, you figured out how this magical whatchajigger works yet?”

To Dean's surprise, Sam began to act elusive once again. “Well, it's complicated.”

“Sammy, wing sex is complicated. Asking out a pretty girl, or figuring out some magical crap? That's usually pretty straightforward.”

Sam was tongue-tied – fortunately (for him) there was a knock at Dean's door. “I gotta go, Dean. I'll catch up with you later,” he said, and then he stood up and the wings were out and Sammy was out the porch doors in one bound and flying away.

“Sammy, wait up!” Dean shook his head. Dumb kid! He went to answer the door, wondering why the hell Rachel had come all the way up here. She usually confined her tirades to phone calls from the lobby. He yanked open the door, and nearly got bopped right on the noggin by some kid. The guy was pretty enough, but Dean wasn't in the mood to party right now.

“Hey, hey, what's up, baby?” Dean asked. He made a big deal of looking back over his suite. “The party's over. Maybe come back tonight?”

The kid stared at Dean as if he'd seen a ghost. But then he quickly regained his composure. He glared at Dean – he had one remarkable pair of blue peepers – and then averted his eyes. “Please put your wings away,” he demanded in a voice that seemed dredged up from the catacombs.

Dean raised his red wings in a quizzical manner. “What?”

“I have come on behalf of the archangels Ellen and Rufus. Please put your wings away before I address you.”

The kid wasn't so big – he was an inch or so shorter than Dean, and thin – but he definitely had the voice of some guy three times his size. “You got a big bark for a puppy,” said Dean.

“I am not a canine. Nor an infant. I am an adult human. I am Castiel.” He stood up to his full height. Oddly, for a human, he didn't seem at all intimidated (nor impressed) by Dean. This was weird. And also (Dean had to admit) ever so slightly amusing.

“Well, whatever you are, say what you gotta say, and get going.”

The blue eyes narrowed. “Not until you put your wings away and cease this rude behavior!” 

Dean held up a raggedy red wing. It was real impolite to have your wings out unless you were fighting or flying. But humans generally didn't know, or didn't give a shit. “Hey! You mean you know it's rude doing this?”

Castiel the human glared. “Yes.”

Dean's mouth edged up. “And what about this?” he asked, raising both wings with a cheeky grin.

“Yes.”

“And how about … this?” he asked, using a wing tip to give Castiel a nudge in the tummy. 

The boy didn't budge: Dean would give him that. But wasn't he even ticklish? 

The glare intensified into a glower. “Yes. That is quite rude.”

“And what about-” Dean was about to give the kid another playful poke, but suddenly a hand came up, and Dean's wingtip slammed into some kind of... Well, he wasn't quite sure what it was. The kid had raised some kind of little magical field with a wave of his hand. “Ow!” Dean protested, shaking out his stubbed wing tip. “I was just joking around! What the hell was that anyway? Was that magic?”

But the field, whatever it was, had already dissipated. “Put your wings down so I may give you my tidings.”

Dean crossed his arms, his wing still smarting. _“Please?”_

The boy finally appeared ruffled. “I'm sorry?”

“Say please!”

The kid's head listed to the side. He was thinking this one over. “Is that all that you require? Will you put away your wings? And cease this unseemly behavior?”

Dean shrugged. “Yeah. Sure. Why not?”

Castiel nodded solemnly. “I suppose that will be honorable. All right. Please.”

Dean and Castiel stared at one another for another moment or two, and then Dean put away his wings. 

Castiel inclined his head in a formal manner. Did he ever quit the serious act? “Thank you. The archangel Ellen and the archangel Ru-”

“Ellen?” mused Dean. “Wait! You mean Bobby's Ellen?”

“She is nobody's Ellen. She is an archangel. She is her own. They have requested your presence for a revelation.”

Dean was lost in thought. Ellen? He hadn't heard from her in a while it seemed. Since before he was appointed Guardian Angel, he was sure. “Yeah, sure, they can come around.”

Castiel was fussing again. “You must come to them! That is the only proper way.”

“I don't want-” Dean suddenly realized that he was about to bring himself another stare-off with the weird human kid. And, well, he just wasn't in the mood. “All right, all right. Tell me when and where.” Ellen and Rufus. He hadn't seen Rufus for a while either. Weird. Usually Bobby and Rufus were thick as thieves, hanging out and drinking and raising hell together.

“They are in residence in the Muggum Grand.”

Dean laughed out loud, which of course only annoyed Castiel. “You mean the MGM Grand, kiddo?”

“That is what I said, the Muggum Grand. You do not need to spell it for me. I can read and write in human English.” And with that, the weird kid turned on his heel and departed down the hallway.

Dean stared after him for a while. The view wasn't bad. After the kid disappeared into the elevator, though, Dean closed the door and sighed. He decided, strange dude or not, he'd better get a move on. Political stuff was the worst! 

 

Castiel stared out the window of the car carrying him back to his family. He watched with fascination all the people going about their days – there must have been hundreds! Maybe thousands! He longed to get out and walk among them, but Ellen had given him strict instructions to come right back to the nest. Castiel sighed and traced a finger down the window.

The car stopped in the turnaround at his hotel, and he stepped out, for just a tantalizing moment, into the hot, dry desert air. He gazed in wonder at the great, golden lion that stood outside, catching the sun.

And then, with a mournful sigh, he was back inside. Inside! It seemed this would be his fate. Downcast, he walked across the lobby towards the elevators. The doors slipped closed, sealing him in. Why was he fated to spend his life locked in a box, he wondered?

The elevator doors once again slid open, but not until Castiel had worked himself into a very dark mood, something that he was very good at. There didn't seem to be anyone around in the suite, so he walked to the tall windows and gazed out across Paradise. And here he was, doomed to spend his life inside.

“What's goin' on, little nugget?”

Castiel turned to regard Garth's hopeful smile. He had persisted in seeing Castiel as the toddler he had saved so many years ago. “Nothing,” Castiel assured him with a deep, deep sigh.

“Now, come on there,” said Garth, reaching into his robes for something. Castiel rolled his eyes as Garth brought out that ridiculous sock puppet. “Mr. Fizzles can tell if you're … a liar!”

Castiel tried to remain moody, but a corner of his mouth edged up. “That is simply a sock with buttons sewn on it, Garth.”

“Tell Mr. Fizzles.”

Castiel scowled. “The Guardian is quite rude. I don't like him.”

“Aw, now, you just met him! You don't have a lot of experience with other folks, but I'm sure-”

“He refused to put his wings away, Garth!”

Garth was silent for a moment, contemplating his sock-clad hand. “Now, I know how Ellen taught ya. She's a fine lady! But sometimes, folks out in the wide world don't do things her way. You just gotta let 'em do what they'll do. And I reckon that the Guardian is a good man. They say Dean is a great warrior – real brave, and also pretty good-lookin'. A real angel's angel!”

Castiel returned to gazing moodily out of the window. “I suppose.”

“Now, you're gonna have to get along with him, you know. That's part of the reason Ellen sent ya over there, little nugget, to get acquainted like. You got an important job ahead.”

“I suppose so.” A familiar dark-winged angel was approaching off the balcony, so Castiel went to open the door for him.

“Hey, Castiel! Hey, Garth!” Sam, Castiel noticed with approval, put his wings away immediately upon stepping inside. At least some angels still had manners. “Is Dean on his way?”

“I told him to hurry,” Castiel informed Sam, who, to his puzzlement, started to laugh.

“OK, first lesson about Dean,” Sam informed him. “You tell him to hurry, he'll do the opposite. You tell him just about anything, he'll do the opposite!” Castiel narrowed his eyes – so even _Sam_ found Dean to be rude!

“Garth, hey man, I need your help grabbing some supplies I think. We should carry some ingredients for spells, and Dean's got nothing. He doesn't really go in for magic.”

“I'll show you our stores, Sam,” Garth told him. “It's tough to get decent yarrow 'round here.” Sam put a big hand on Garth's narrow shoulder and they disappeared off down the hall, leaving Cas to stew about walls and rude angels.

 

Dean had decided to walk to the “Muggum Grand.” He didn't feel like parading around town with his wings out again, as that would only attract attention. Doffing his stupid, itchy official robes, he eased into a set of human clothing. Humans were weird, but at least they knew how to dress. Material woven of cotton was soft against his skin, and his boots were far sturdier than the ridiculous sandals he wore with his formal dress. 

Finishing off his outfit with a ball cap pulled low to conceal his face, he struck out on the Strip towards the emerald-hued building at the south – the one festooned with a ridiculous gold lion. On his way, he passed many human residents of Paradise going about their business, shopping and running errands, all of them oblivious to the Guardian Angel walking in their midst. Dean was grateful for the small amount of anonymity his raiment gave him – there were exactly two kinds of humans in Dean's world, those who saw him as an idol, and those like Rachel and the weird kid who just wanted to order him around. How he longed to be normal, to be swallowed up by the crowd, just another guy stocking apples in a fruit stand or buying replacement parts for his automobile.

He paused at a flower vendor. While he was waiting, he noticed a pair of wide eyes staring at him. It was a small, brown-eyed girl, standing with her mother at the market stall across the way. She was carrying a well-worn toy, a plush angel with rather familiar red wings. Dean winked at her, and then put a finger to his lips. She nodded solemnly, clutching at her stuffed friend.

Then he was out along the Strip again, watching humans drive by in their shiny vehicles. Paradise was fortunate: they had a steady supply of gasoline, and more had been laid out at depots around the surrounding desert. Though Dean was an angel, he much admired human motor vehicles. Sometimes, he would just take a stroll up and down the strip, watching them go by. There was a Ford Mustang. A Dodge Charger, just like Steve McQueen! (Dean had seen a lot of old human films.) There went a Dodge Challenger – he had always wanted to drive out to the desert in a Challenger. Damn, was that a Chevy? 

“Baby,” Dean told the passing car, “you're beautiful.”

Soon – much too soon – Dean found himself passing through the front entrance of the MGM Grand, out of the hot, dry sun and back into the weird artificial atmosphere, kept cool for the humans. The automatic door sliced shut like twin guillotine blades. He could no longer see the blue sky in here.

He was ushered up to the penthouse because, of course, where else would angels stay? They had evidently commandeered a two story luxury suite. The floor to ceiling windows gave a tantalizing view of the Strip far below. Better to gaze out there than the sight right in front of him: the archangel Rufus, wings fully in view, getting preened by the kid, Castiel. “Oh, right there: that's the spot!” Rufus grunted. 

Dean cleared his throat, awkwardly holding the bundle of wildflowers he'd gotten for Ellen. “Dean!” said Rufus. “Damn nice to see you, kid.”

“You're looking … _fit_ , Rufus,” said Dean. Castiel cast a glance this way, and then pointedly turned his attention back to Rufus's plumage.

“Dean?” A familiar female voice came from upstairs. Ellen came gliding down the spiral staircase from the top floor. She had banished her wings, and wore a simple robe. She was not only a brave warrior, she was one of the prettiest angels there ever was – he could see why Bobby found one excuse or another to spend time in her presence.

Speaking of which, he still hadn't figured out what she had been up to recently. Were she and Bobby quarreling again? Their fights could be quite damaging: parts of Russia were still radioactive after their last donnybrook. “Hey, Ellen,” Dean started. “Long time no see.”

Rufus's head snapped up, and he and Ellen exchanged an odd expression. Oh boy, Dean had obviously stepped in something, but he couldn't quite imagine what. He held out the flowers he'd just bought, and thankfully, Ellen was slightly mollified by the bouquet. She liked flowers. Apparently she had spent a lot of time designing them, back in the day. With a nod to Castiel, Rufus banished his wings and stood up to speak.

“Thank you, Dean,” said Ellen. “You're very thoughtful.”

“For an angel,” Rufus added, and both of them got back their sour looks. Dean glanced over at Castiel, but the kid was still ignoring him.

To Dean's relief, there was a knock on the door, and who should show up but Sam, one arm draped around the shoulder of a tall, skinny angel. Dean fixed his eyes on the newcomer. He looked familiar. Some mingy Cherub who'd gotten conscripted when the wars were raging, but Dean couldn't recall the name. Art? Bart?

“Sam. Garth,” said Ellen.

Ah, that was it! 

“Is everything ready?” Ellen continued.

“Yeah, we're good to go,” said Sam, who threw a smile towards Dean. In earlier days, Dean would have asked what the fuck was good to go, but after a while as Guardian Angel, he'd learned to hold his tongue. A little that is.

“I am ready as well,” said Castiel. 

“Wait. Ready for what?” asked Dean. As we said, he'd learned to hold his tongue - a little. “What's the kid gonna do?” Castiel fixed him with a glare that did nothing towards explication.

Sam – awesome Sam, Sam his favorite little brother – rode to the rescue. “We've secured the Moonstone. Now it's critical that we also capture it's companion, the Earthstone.”

“Wait, right now?” asked Dean. “Didn't you just tell me they lost the Moonstone guys for 20 years? What's the rush?”

It came to Dean, all at once, from Ellen and Rufus's dark expressions, and Garth's foot-shuffling. Oh! That's why he hadn't seen them lately. 

Oops! Wing, meet mouth.

“I mean, um, of course, we could get going on it. Yeah,” said Dean. “You want me to help search?” he added hopefully. This could be great, actually! He could get the fuck out of the city for a while, and fly around over the desert with Sammy. Hey, just like the old days, the two of them-

“Yes, you and Sam,” said Ellen.

“Great!” said Dean.

“...And Castiel.”

Dean paused, glancing over at Castiel once again. The kid was - no surprise there - glaring. “Cas?”

“Castiel,” he supplied, his lips grim.

“Cas the human?” Dean said. “But, how is he going flying with us?”

“Dean,” said Sam. “It's OK, I got it covered.”

“And what's _he_ doing coming along?” Dean persisted. No way, no way, they were not gonna make him nursemaid for some creepy kid. What was he supposed to do, carry him piggyback across the desert? Were these guys nuts? Well, on the other hand, they were angels, so, yeah....

“Dean, I got this,” Sam whispered. Sam was now standing near Dean, with a hand on his shoulder. “Don't worry.”

But Dean was not mollified. Out of the frying pan, and into the fire? No way! “Look, you're sending me out for some fucking rock-”

“Language!” hissed Ellen, and Dean suddenly remembered why he'd learned to shut up.

But, once again, Dean was saved from himself, this time by the arrival of none other than Bobby, who suddenly appeared out on the balcony, flapping great grey wings and probably cursing a blue streak. Garth went to open the door, and Bobby hurried in, readjusting his rumpled robes and flapping his wings, nearly toppling over a vase that Garth was quick enough to catch. “Damn those desert winds!” Bobby making a trip all the way to Paradise meant this was serious business.

Either that, or Bobby was seriously in trouble.

“Bobby,” said Ellen. Bobby looked over at her, his name hanging awkwardly in the air, Ellen glaring at him.

“Ellen,” grunted Bobby, who had suddenly stilled from all his flapping and fussing. He banished his wings. And, for a very long moment, that is absolutely all that was said, the large suite struck dead in an electric sort of silence.

At length, Ellen broke the quiet. “Twenty years,” she said, crisply.

Bobby reached to scratch his neck, where his robes got itchy. “Ellen-”

“Twenty years, Bobby.”

“Ellen, I-”

“You didn't wonder where the HELL we were?”

Garth literally gasped. Castiel's eyes went wide. Ellen, cursing? 

Was it the end of the world?

Suddenly, Dean felt himself gripped by the large hand of his little brother. “Well, we got work to do. See you,” said Sam, who was hustling both Dean and the boy, Castiel, out the door. He pushed them into the corridor and slammed the door behind him, exhaling nervously.

The shouting began when they were halfway to the elevator.

“What's- What is going on?” asked a clearly confused Castiel. “Ellen has never used that kind of language in my presence.”

“Bobby done fucked up,” laughed Dean, who was still careful to keep his voice low. “Come on,” he urged as, mercifully, the elevator opened.

“I don't understand,” said Castiel.

“We'll tell you about it when you're older,” said Dean, who grabbed Cas and yanked him inside the elevator when the boy lingered in the hall.

“I am twenty-two years old!” Castiel retorted as the doors shut.

“Yeah, you're a regular senior citizen.” Dean turned to his brother angel. “Sammy, tell me again why we're taking Grandpa along with us?”

“I am not your paternal relative!” Cas snapped as the doors opened and Sam, rolling his eyes, led them out on the ground floor. 

“We can't fly his ass across the desert,” Dean protested. “He'll slow us down.”

Sam was smiling mysteriously. “Wait and see, Dean. I think you'll approve.”

“And what's the sudden urgency with this Earthstone deal? Like I said, we've left the Moonstone for twenty years.”

“We have intelligence from several independent sources now. According to the Crossroads King, the demon armies will be in search of the relic, now that the Moonstone has been secured.”

“The Crossroads King?” chorused both Dean and Castiel, who exchanged a very quick, very annoyed glance.

“That's a myth,” sneered Castiel. “There is no such person.”

“As I said, we have good intelligence on this,” said Sam. “At least three independent sources.”

“From who, Sammy? Oh, tell me it's not the City Council! They're all weasels.”

Sam rolled his eyes and veered towards one of the back doors. He headed out of the mirror world and back into the desert heat, Dean and Castiel following. Castiel was dressed formally, in an ill-fitting suit and tie with an overcoat, but oddly, did not seem affected by the temperature. “You don't need to follow us around, kid.”

“My name is Castiel. And this is my sacred mission.”

“What?”

“I was commanded by the archangels. That makes it sacred.”

“Just because a couple of angel assholes ask you to do something don't make it a holy mission, small fry.”

“Language!” riposted Castiel.

“Hey, by your logic, I'm an angel. If I say asshole, then it's sacred writ!”

Castiel began to argue, but obviously found himself brought up short by Dean's reasoning (or lack thereof).

“Dean!” bellowed Sam. “Get over here!”

“What?” barked Dean. But then he saw it, and he began to hurry: it was long and low and black as night and smooth as silk. Dean caressed the end of a fender. “Sammy,” he whispered.

“Sweet ride, huh?” said Sam, wearing his best shit-eating grin, the little fucker. Well, Dean would forgive him this one. He would definitely forgive him. A set of keys were tossed from brother to brother, and Dean climbed into the driver's seat, Sam sliding beside him.

With trembling hands, Dean slotted a key into the ignition. The engine roared, and then settled into a lovely purr. “Sammy,” was all he could say. 

“I've loaded it up with all your equipment and tools. The trunk is huge! It oughta be good for a long haul into the desert.”

The back door opened and closed, and Castiel was sitting behind them, hooking his elbows over the bench seat and peering curiously at the dashboard. “Is this a motor vehicle? I have seen them on various documentaries. I believe this is an internal combustion engine.”

“Yeah, it's an internal combustion engine. And you're annoying as fuck, anybody ever told you that?”

“No.”

Sighing, Dean turned the key and stilled the motor. 

“I will go and prepare for the journey,” Castiel informed them.

“Yeah. You do that.” As Dean pouted, staring at the steering wheel, the back door opened and closed again, so he assumed the kid had run off. “Sammy. Seriously?”

Sam leaned his big frame back in the seat. “But you like the car?”

Dean put a hand around the steering wheel. “Do I like the car? Hey, feet!” he chided, as Sam rested a boot on the dashboard. Sam moved the offending appendage, and Dean fiddled with the keys. “Can we just leave without him?”

“No. No, believe me, he's critical in the search for the Earthstone.”

Dean remained silent.

“Come on, Dean. You get to put the wings away, and the robes, and ride around in the desert in a human car. You know you can't wait.”

“But the kid. Cas.”

“Castiel seems OK. Look, he had a weird childhood, Dean.”

“Well, boo-hoo. Poor princess.”

“No, seriously, the angels found him in the Citadel.”

Angels … and a kid? That gave Dean pause. He said he was 22. They were there for 20 years, that meant.... “Wait, wait. He's been with fucking angels since he was a fucking toddler?”

“Yeah.” Sam almost moved his foot back to the dashboard, but thought the better of it. 

Castiel and the angels. Good God, no wonder he came off like a creepy little fuck. “No wonder,” he told Sam, “he comes off like a creepy little fuck.”

“Dean, he's honestly not that bad!”

Dean was going to respond, but once again the back door opened and closed. He swiveled around to glance in back, where Castiel now sat, along with a backpack. He held on his lap a small box. “I am ready. Let us be off.”

“Wait, that's all you need?”

Castiel glanced at his backpack, and then at Dean. “My needs are few.”

“What about food, dude? You're a human, right? What about snacks?”

Castiel glared, but then seemed thoughtful. “I suppose we should pack adequate water. I don't expect to be gone long.”

“Water? _Water?_ ”

“Yes. That's what I said.”

Dean rolled his eyes at Sam. Then he placed the key back in the ignition. “OK, first lesson, kid, and that's how you pack for a goddam road trip!” Before Castiel could object, he put the car in gear, and roared off.

 

_SOMEWHAT LATER, BUT STILL IN PARADISE_

_(After a really super-important shopping trip.)_

 

Cas peered curiously at a potato chip while Dean watched Sam run inside the hotel where the Moore family's apartments were located. How could you be human and not like human snack food? They had stopped by the kitchen and, while Chef Balthazar fussed and fumed, raided the pantries for everything and anything Dean could think of to stash in a car. They got bags of chips and boxes of cookies and cartons of granola and containers of gorp and loaves of bread so they could make PB&Js (Cas didn't even know what it stood for – what the hell?) and a thermos with cold drinks. If they were going on a road trip, they were living large!

“Hand me a bag of chips, will you?” Dean asked. A bag appeared poised over the front seat, as did Cas, those big blue eyes wide as a pair of flying saucers. “You got a question?” He always had a question.

“What is Sam doing, Dean?”

“He's sayin' goodbye to Jess. She's his girl.”

“She's his … daughter?”

“His girlfriend! Damn. Didn't they have one of your documentaries about the birds and the bees?”

“I like bees,” stated Cas, who nibbled primly on the edge of a chip. “Though I had not gotten the chance to encounter one until we were freed from the Citadel. I believe they are a glorious incarnation of God's plan.”

Dean rolled his eyes and leaned back, one hand on the steering wheel. The big car was blocking the turnaround, and some guy in a van was honking at him, so Dean made an obscene gesture, which he noticed Cas repeated. “It means, 'Hello,'” he told Cas.

“Oh,” said Cas, who now stuck out both middle fingers. “According to the literature I've read, the common interpretation is, 'Fuck you.'”

A fine spray of potato chips fell over Dean's pristine steering wheel. “Dammit,” he muttered, wiping chips and spit from his chin and rummaging around for a rag. “I thought you didn't curse?”

“Please don't tell Ellen! Rufus taught me.”

Maybe Sam was right, and Cas wasn't as bad as Dean had feared. Rufus was OK, for an angel. Maybe some of him and Ellen had rubbed off on the kid? “Your secret's safe with me, Cas.”

“My name is _Castiel._ ”

“Yeah. Your name is too long.” 

“My name is exactly the right length.”

“Cas is a nickname.”

For once, the boy fell silent. Dean was sure it wouldn't last. 

“A nick name?” 

“Yep.” Dean rattled his hands on the steering wheel and wondered what was taking Sammy so goddam long. Was he finally telling Jess what he felt about her? Well, good for him, but why the hell did he pick this time? Damn fledglings.

“Is this a sign of affection, Dean?”

“What?” Dean swiveled around and came face to face with Cas, who was now maybe two inches from him, and doing that damn unblinking stare thing. 

Dean stared back. He was going to say something rude. Tell the kid to go eat his potato chips. Or make Dean a sammich. But he tried, and the words just didn't come.

It was such a hopeful stare, really. The guy had been brought up by angels. Angels! Well, Ellen was great, but Rufus could be a miserable old asshole, and Garth.... Oh, lord, Garth! Seriously, the poor kid. He had to deal with angel assholes when he wasn't even an angel asshole. And no chips. No girls! Or boys, or whatever swung his axe. No nothing!

Well, all right. They'd do this desert drive and get the stupid rock, but meanwhile, maybe Dean could teach this wretched little shit how to at least loosen up and eat a damn chip? 

Maybe he could get him drunk? And all of a sudden, Dean – who despite being an angel really didn't go in for that sort of crap – had a revelation. There was a picture of Cas, out in the desert, under the night sky, smiling and drunk as a skunk. And maybe out of that ridiculous monkey suit? Tie loosened and a couple of buttons unbuttoned, leaning back, those big blue eyes staring up at the sky, lips parted slightly, gazing now at Dean....

“Dean?”

“What?”

Sam was sitting in the passenger seat, really weird look on his face. Oh, Sam! Yeah, that's right, Sam. 

“What took you so long?” Dean growled, shoving the car into gear and nearly taking out a cursing man in a white van who had pulled up alongside.

“Saying goodbye to Jess? Like you told me to?”

The man in the van started screaming. Dean glanced back in the rear view mirror and noticed that Cas was flashing not one but a pair of middle fingers at him.

“Hey, Cas!”

“Yes, Dean? Did I utilize the gesture properly?”

“That was perfect, buddy!” laughed Dean. He turned to Sam. “So? Did you tell her what you think about her?”

“Uh,” said Sam. Nope. Sammy, you dumb shit!

“Dumb shit,” Dean grunted.

“Jerk!” Sam riposted. 

“Bitch!” The angels grinned at one another, and Dean roared off, down the Strip, and towards the gate.


	2. Chapter 2

_MANY YEARS AGO_

_(Actually about 15. Even though last time “Many Years” meant 20 years. Sorry, you just have to suspend disbelief here.)_

 

The DVR warmed up with a whirr of motors. _“In the fifth year of the Human-Demon Wars,” the narrator lectured, “prior to the celestial intervention, HUMANITY began to construct great, walled dwelling places as a defense against the demon hordes.”_

Castiel sat, hugging knobby knees to his chest.

“You learning your human history, little nugget?” inquired Garth, ruffing Castiel's dark hair.

“Yes,” stated Castiel, struggling to imitate the narrator, who was, as it happened, the only human Castiel happened to know. 

_“Certain cities erected walls for protection against the demons. They utilized anything they could find, including concrete, metal sheeting, abandoned cars, grocery carts, bricks and mortar, and many other materials.”_ Castiel had seen this documentary many times before, so he knew the narration pretty much by heart, but it was a favorite. The camera was currently panning across a section of wall somewhere in a desert landscape that appeared to be constructed of giant plasticine figures of dinosaurs lashed together with bailing wire. 

“Yeah,” said Rufus, who wandered by as well. “As long as you salt it, you can use most anything to keep the demons out. Humans are pretty clever. For humans.” He emphasized the last statement with a determined flap of his silvery wings. Rufus had been out exercising, probably because Ellen had been nagging him.

The camera was panning by another section of wall that consisted of a number of seagoing vessels. Castiel had never actually seen a ship on the ocean. He had never seen the ocean, either, because he had spent the majority of his young life trapped inside the Citadel. He knew about all of these things because he had watched all of the documentaries, and his friend, the narrator, had told him about all of them. The outside world must be quite big, he thought, to contain so many wonders.

 

_THE PRESENT DAY_

_(Still in Paradise, NV.)_

_(Though don't worry, we're getting out soon. Have another chip!)_

 

“A great, walled dwelling place,” repeated Castiel, as the car pulled up into the line of vehicles waiting at the gate. 

Dean scowled and leaned on his horn while Sam shook his head. “Dean.”

“They check on the way in, they check on the way out, what the fuck?” sighed Dean. “What, am I gonna be smuggling demons out? These guys just want a job for themselves!” Despite the absence of demons in the vicinity over the last several months, the wall was still heavily guarded, and getting in or out was a protracted process where you had to show your identification papers and subject yourself and your vehicle to nosy guards. Dean, who was used to swooping over the wall when he was awing, had no patience for this stuff, especially as now the open roadway was so near. 

“Time's a-wasting Sammy.”

“I thought you just said everybody was insane for rushing?” asked Sam, trying to wield logic against Dean.

“Shall we employ finger signals?” smacked Cas from the back seat, where he had practiced making himself a PB&J, and ended up getting a whole lot of it on himself. Dean was silently grateful that Sam had insisted on bringing several rolls of paper towels. 

“No no no no no, not here,” said Dean, who grabbed a peanut butter-slathered hand before Cas could deploy it in a middle-finger gesture. “Ugh! Sammy, where's the towels?”

Sam, who was smiling much too widely for Dean's tastes, tore off a towel and handed it to his brother angel, who cursed as he wiped his hands. “Get it all over the dashboard,” he grumbled. “Can I at least have a bite of the damned sammich?” he asked.

Cas handed it forth, and Dean took a generous, gooey bite. He chewed aggressively, but then, more thoughtfully. “Wow. Wow. Wow! You said you'd never eaten this before!”

“I have not had the pleasure of a Pee, Bee and Jay,” Cas told him.

“Sammy! This is excellent. Now, this is how you make a sammich!” He passed it over to Sam, who, wrinkling his nose, waved it off, but Dean stuck it in his face and so Sam snatched up about half a roll of paper towels and took a delicate bite off a stretch Dean hadn't touched, while in the back seat, Cas licked off his knife, getting peanut butter on face and fingers. 

“It's … OK,” Sam remarked.

“OK? This is SAMMICH MAGIC!” Dean protested, snatching back the sandwich and cramming as much of it as possible into his mouth. “Wa ga ma ga wa ga!” he explained.

At just that moment, of course, the line moved, and Dean rolled the big auto up to the gate, struggling to crank down a window without turning the entire front end of the car into a peanut-coated nightmare. 

“Guardian! It's you,” said the guard.

“Rrrrungle,” Dean told him. Or something that sounded like that, filtered through chunky peanut butter that had spread out in a single, chunky layer along the roof of Dean's mouth.

“Everyone, please!” shouted the guard, gesturing frantically. “The Guardian is coming through!”

Dean grinned a peanutty grin and fired up the engine and, as Sam slumped down as far as angelically possible, Cas turned and gave the guards a happy pair of gooey middle finger gestures.

And they were off, thundering into the desert.

 

Dean sang along with a cassette tape he had inserted into a player on the dashboard. Cas made himself another sandwich – _sammiches,_ Dean called them. Dean appeared to approve of these, so he would have to hone his technique.

“Uh, does anybody know where we're going?” asked Sam. Sam tended to worry about things. Dean didn't tend to worry about things, other than the length of Sam's hair, which evidently aggrieved him. 

Sam and Dean were angels, like Ellen and Rufus and Garth were angels. But they were different. The world was very different. Castiel glanced up out of the window, across the wide desert. The outside world was so very big – so much bigger than he had even imagined. The sand and scrub rushed past, like in one of his documentaries, but there was no narrator here to tell you what you were seeing. Neither Sam nor Dean seemed interested, as they preferred bickering. 

“I dunno,” said Dean. “This ain't my quest. I thought you had it all figured out?”

Sam put a hand through his long hair and launched a foot towards the dashboard, but then at the last minute decided otherwise, and ended up plopping the foot back down on the floorboards. “Maybe if we had spent a second or two researching this instead of raiding the kitchen for chips?”

“Can't go into the desert without provisions, Sammy! Don't wanna starve your kid.”

“My kid?” Sam cast a glance back at Cas, and then he was squirming around in the seat to look at the human. Sam was quite large for a human or an angel, but he had this quality of bonelessness where he could squeeze his large frame into any contortion. “Castiel? Which way, dude? You know, right?”

“Naw, he's just here to eat our sammiches.”

_“Sammiches,”_ said Cas, trying to get the intonation just right.

“Sammiches, fuck yeah!”

Cas came forward, hooking elbows around the bench seat. “Sammiches, fuck yeah!”

Sam huffed and held out long arms. “Oh, good lord, please don't turn Castiel into a little Dean!”

Cas was stunned. Another Dean? 

When at last they had been freed from the Citadel, Castiel's first instinct had been to seek out some other humans, so to get to know those of his kind. That had been Ellen's wish for him. (Garth thought Castiel was already perfect, and Rufus didn't seem to care as long as he got his wings groomed.) But he had ended up housed with Ellen and Rufus and Garth, and then was sent off with Sam and Dean. But maybe this was not so bad after all? Sam and Dean were angels, but they weren't … very angel-y? They seemed to be a human sort of angels. And Castiel was an angel sort of human. So maybe this would work out?

“Cas, where are we going?” said Sam, who emphasized the query with whole body nudge to Cas's arms. His entire body conveyed irritation, where as Dean looked as relaxed as could be, which further irritated Sam. What an interesting dynamic! 

Sam was scowling, so Castiel slipped back into the back seat. He licked off his fingers as best he could, and then applied a few of the paper towels. Sam twisted his body yet more and clucked his tongue. “Dean, the back seat-”

“Don't worry Sammy. When we make it to the first depot we'll hose him off. No problemo.”

Cas grabbed his backpack and rummaged around inside. There weren't many items, so he found the box quickly. He set it on his lap. And then he sat back, waiting to talk to the Moonstone. This was one thing Rufus had taught him – Rufus was good at stuff like this. Usually Castiel needed it to be quiet and dark, but he couldn't very well ask them to turn down the sun, and he liked the music Dean was listening to, so he stilled his mind and began to talk.

 

“Dean,” said Sam. “Stop the car.”

“What? Why?” Sam's tone was such that Dean actually turned down the music. He looked over at his brother angel, who could only point to the back seat. Dean glanced at the rear view mirror.

The car screeched to a halt on the side of the road. Sam and Dean both turned around in their seats and stared.

After a moment, the eerie light show faded, and the back seat was just Cas, sitting with a box on his lap, blinking.

“Cas?” whispered Dean. “You OK, kid?”

“We will go west,” intoned Cas, still half in whatever the hell kind of trance.

Sam and Dean looked at one another. Dean shrugged. “Is that where the Earthstone is?” Sam asked.

“We will go west,” Cas repeated.

Dean mulled this over for a while. And then he turned around and put the car in gear. “OK. We go west.” The car took off once again. “Oh, and when you're out of your whatever, can you get me another sammich?”

After a time, Sam took out a book, because that was his thing. Cas snapped out of whatever and went back to being Cas. He made Dean another awesome PB&J, and asked a few weird questions about how big the desert was (big! Big as fuck!) and why an angel could drive a car (because cars are awesome! Awesome as fuck!) and why Sam and Dean were brothers if they were actually angels and each angel represented a specific act of creation that did not involve human-type familial relationships.

“We were fledglings at the same time,” Sam told him, even though he still had a book opened on his lap. “Young angels.”

“I am familiar with the term.”

“I suppose you would be. Anyway, there weren't a lot of us.”

“There were just the two of us!” Dean interjected. His memories of the time were a little dim. There had been older brothers and sisters in the nest, and then there weren't. And then they'd brought in little Sam with instructions to watch over him, and, well, that's what angels do, don't they? He was just a tiny thing, but with the biggest, fluffiest dark wings. The wings were bigger than the baby! It was a real mess for a while, big wings slopping everywhere – Dean thought he'd never learn to fly. But then the kid finally caught up to his wings and he was the biggest and the strongest and just the best little brother a guy could ever ask for. 

Sam shrugged. “Nobody knows why there have been so few fledglings lately. Anyway, this was all before the Human-Demon War, but demon activity was stepping up, so there weren't a lot of elders around.”

“Bobby was there,” said Dean.

“Yeah,” said Sam. “Bobby did what he could. But he's a commanding general.”

So Dean was there. Because Dean was always there. “We basically brought each other up. Sammy and me.”

“And then we got sent out to the Human-Demon War as soon as we could hold a flaming sword. Dean gets along with humans, for the most part.” Sam and Dean paused and shared a look. 

_Because humans are assholes, but angels are even worse assholes_ , Dean didn't say. Bobby was all right. Ellen, too, and Rufus, as far as he knew. But as for the rest, well....

“How long have you been in Paradise, Dean?” asked Cas.

Talk about assholes! “It's been about....” He honestly couldn't remember.

Sam was there. “Five years.”

“Oh Christ no. Really?”

“Really.”

“You should not take the Lord's name in vain,” Cas put in from the Back Seat of Judgment.

“Hey, you just waved middle fingers at the gate guards,” Sam pointed out.

“That is not taking the Lord's name in vain.”

“Heh, we got a lawyer here,” laughed Dean, who couldn't deny his growing affection for the weird-ass kid. “So, anyway, to make a long story short, the city was in the late stage of building the wall. But all the humans were divided into arguing factions.”

“Zachariah,” said Sam, counting on his fingers.

“Fucking asshole.”

“Naomi.”

“Fucking asshole.”

“Metatron.”

“Fucking asshole. And the skeeviest skeeve ever to skeeve!”

“I thought you got along with humans?” said Cas.

“I do!” Dean protested. “I do. I like Jess.”

Sam's face eased into a long, low smile.

“Jess is Sam's girl?” Cas inquired. 

And Sam suddenly snapped around. “No no no no no!”

“Yeah, she's Sammy's girl.”

“Dean!”

“What is that on the horizon, Dean?” asked Cas, one arm now pointed over their shoulders, towards the harsh afternoon sun, and what appeared to be a sandstorm.

“Oh shit,” said Dean.

“Oh shit,” echoed Sam. “I thought they were gone!”

“Yeah. No such luck.” Dean pulled the car to the side of the road. “Weapons ready!” he called.

“On it,” said Sam, who had already hopped out to pop the trunk.

“Does this represent demonic activity?” Cas inquired, calm as could be.

“Yeah, this is demonic activity,” said Dean, grabbing his sword.

“What shall I do?”

“What you shall do is sit tight and keep the fuck out of our way. Now sit!” Dean slammed the door and he and Sam stood by the car, brandishing weapons. Cas watched in wonder as the dark cloud roiled towards them. As it drew near the car, he could see that it was made up of individuals, winged monsters of every shape and size, buzzing in on insectoid wings, maws drooling green slime, stingers poised. The air stunk of sulfur.

As Cas watched, Sam and Dean flourished their mighty wings, ignited their flaming swords and flew to meet the foul horde. Sam bore a broad pair of dark-feathered wings, and looked like a condor in fight. Dean's wings were festooned with striking red feathers, short and sharp, like a bird of prey. Cas held his breath, praying for the pair of gallant angels poised against this mass of cruel enemies. Weapons flashed. Blood was spilled. Sam and Dean tore their way through the demons, and Cas's heart soared with them.

They worked effortlessly as a team, first downing the smaller, weaker foes, then – as if by silent agreement – tackling the bigger demons, who were slower moving but much stronger. They cut through most of the mass, but were stymied by a huge wasp-like creature. It wasn't terribly maneuverable, not did it appear intelligent, but the carapace was nearly impenetrable to even the legendarily mighty flaming angel swords.

Suddenly, a scorpion-like monster whipped its spiny tail at Dean. Swift and sure in the air, but distracted by the wasp, Dean barely avoided the stinging end, but was whip-cracked by the tail. He fell from the sky, landing hard on one wing. Cas gasped and threw open the car door, running to Dean's aid. 

“Dean!”

Overhead, Sam's sword flashed, and the scorpion thing was beheaded in one blow. The horrible body fell with a thud nearby.

“Get back in the damned car!” Dean shouted at Cas. “Now!”

“Dean!” came Sam's cry. Dean and Cas stared up, as Sam was now being charged by the very last, worst demon: the wasp creature. 

Dean tried to extend his wings to fly to Sam's aid, but instead moaned and fell to his knees, gasping in agony. “Sam,” he whispered.

Cas sprinted towards Sam, and then when he was directly underneath, threw his hands skyward. Suddenly, shield of swirling air appeared between the angel and the demon. The wasp-thing tried to fly around this weird obstacle, but one wing ended up shaved through on the edge, like wood on a circular saw. Wounded and off balance, the thing plummeted from the sky. 

Shoving Cas aside, Dean ran and put a sword in the creature's head, and it was ended. 

Sam alit, extinguishing his sword. The angel brothers stared at one another, washed in demon blood, both panting. “You all right?” Sam asked Dean.

“Think I fucked up my wing.”

“Damn.” Sam turned to the boy. “Cas, what was that?” 

“Is that what you did at the hotel?” Dean asked Cas.

Cas stood, gazing at the dead wasp demon. “I- I wounded it,” he whispered in wonder.

“Yeah, you did. Go you.” Dean went to slap him on the shoulder, but Cas cringed back.

“No! I'm only supposed to use my power for defense.”

“Cas,” said Sam.

Dean, who had led men to battle before, knew what to do. He seized Cas by the shoulders and turned him around. “Eyes on me. Eyes on me!” Dean commanded.

Two sorrowful eyes gazed up at him.

“Listen to me. You just helped kill a demon. You saved Sam. Sam is alive. You done good. Get it?”

“I-”

“No. You just survived your first demon battle, kiddo. Got it?”

Cas bit his lip, but at length, nodded. “Ellen said-”

Dean nodded, happy to be getting through. “Ellen is a good captain. The best! But you guys weren't in a combat situation. The rules are different here. Right, Sam?”

“Right. Thanks, Cas,” said Sam. 

Cas's eyes darted over to him, and then back to Dean. “Dean, your wing is injured. We should assess the damage without delay.”

Dean tried to flap the wing, but quickly pulled it back instead, wincing in pain. “Nothing we could do about it out here,” Dean grunted. But Cas didn't wait for permission. He grabbed Dean's wing and, with strikingly sure and gentle hands, spread it out while Dean stood, grimacing. 

Sam hovered nearby, watching Cas work. “How is he? Is it broken?” he asked, soft-voiced. Though Dean was trying to minimize it, broken wings were a big deal to angels. Getting them repaired properly took time and no small bit of healing magic. And even after all of that, you might not fly the same again. Or fly at all! Cas scowled and flexed and bent Dean's wing, saying nothing, applying an intense concentration.

“It's not broken,” Cas said at length. “The bones are all intact. I would say however you have sustained a bad sprain. You should not fly in the near future. There is already some evidence of edema. We should apply cold packs.”

“Wow. That's a relief,” said Sam.

Dean nodded. There were tears in his eyes, though it wasn't clear if it was from pain or relief. 

“Your wings are also badly overdue for grooming,” Cas huffed, and Sam snorted with laughter.

“Yeah, yeah,” grunted Dean. He grimaced and folded his wings away. 

“Dean, I said we need to apply-”

“Later!” snapped Dean. And then, a little less harshly, “Later, kid.”

“Where the hell did all those demons come from?” asked Sam. “It's been a year since we've sighted any in the vicinity. This is weird.”

Dean rubbed his shoulder. Even with his wings folded away, it still hurt. “It's fucking weird. I say we get in the car and drive straight to the next fuel depot. We're closer to there than if we turn around. We'll overnight there. Too dangerous to camp out tonight.” The fuel depots weren't as secure as being behind the wall, but they provided some shelter, plus caches of weapons and ammunition. 

Dean turned towards the car. Thankfully, none of the falling demons had landed on it. 

There was a faint sound, like the cackling of a weird, evil laughter.

“Dean!” cried Cas, pointing towards the car. Both Sam and Dean raised their swords. 

“Dammit, something got underneath my car!” Dean sprinted to the car, and so did Sam. He crouched down and swept his sword underneath, but the mad shrieking only got louder.

“Get out of there!” yelled Dean. He stabbed blindly with his sword again, but Sam cried out and pulled him back as something darted out and snapped at his ankles.

Dean grunted in pain, rubbing his sore shoulder. “Careful!” warned Sam. He slowly approached the car, and poked his sword underneath.

There was a rustle and a snap, and Sam stumbled back as something with lots of sharp teeth darted its head out and hissed at him. 

“Not my car goddammit!” yelled Dean.

“Language,” scolded Cas.

Dean whirled around, ready to tear Cas a new one. But then he paused. He grabbed Cas's arm and pulled him near, whispering in his ear.

Cas nodded.

Dean signaled to Sam, and both of them went around the other side of the car and stood, swords poised.

Cas quietly approached the car. Being careful to stay out of the striking distance of whatever was underneath, he knelt down on the asphalt and extended his hands. One of his air shields sprang out, and he kneaded it carefully. It formed, low and long, and then pushed underneath the car.

The cackling suddenly turned to shrieks.

“Get out of there you son of a bitch!” Dean yelled, just as a disgusting snake head slithered out. Sam stepped up and beheaded it in one swift blow. “You fucker, messing with my car!” Dean yelled at the empty-eyed head.

“Dean!” yelled Sam, as suddenly another head struck out, snapping at Dean. Dean pivoted and stuck his sword right in the thing's eye. It hissed and howled. Dean withdrew his sword, and struck off the head with one swift slice.

“Is that all of them?” Dean asked. 

Sam squatted down and poked his sword underneath the car once again. He withdrew it, now impaled on a single snake body. Missing both heads.

“The old two-headed snake demon trick,” grunted Dean.

“Are you all right, Dean? Sam?” asked Cas, who had been tending to his shield magic.

“We're great. Thanks, Cas. You're a good guy to have in a fight.”

Cas looked like he would die from sheer pride. And then, frowning, he pulled open a back door, rummaging around in his pack in the back seat. He extracted the box, cradling it to his chest with a relieved sigh. 

“You should watch out for that … whatever the hell it is,” Dean told him. 

“What's this?” asked Sam, pointing at some fluid now pooling beneath the car. “That's not demon blood.”

Dead snapped to attention. He ran around the car, peering underneath. Finally he reared up and screamed, “You motherfucker! You cut the fuel line!” He turned around and kicked the snake's headless body. “Fucking snake demon.”

“How did it even know to do that?” asked Sam. “Demons are dumb.”

Dean was pacing in agitation, regarding the pool of gas on the asphalt. “It's bit clean through. I don't know what we're gonna do.”

“You can't repair it?”

“Yeah, I can jury rig something. But with this fuel spill we're not gonna have enough gas to make the depot! We're here for the night. God dammit.”

Sam flapped his large wings. “I could-”

Dean's mind was racing, now back to thinking as a soldier. “Sammy! I can't fly. You take Cas. You should be able to make it to the depot. Hole up there for the night, and you can bring me back some gas tomorrow.”

“Dean, I can't carry Cas that far. You know that.”

Dean looked between Sam and Cas. Sam was strong. But maybe not that strong. “You could get him close. Make a run for it.”

“Great, two of us in the desert on foot. And you back here alone?”

Time to put his wings up, Dean decided. “Sam, I'm not asking.” The angels glared at one another.

“I will not leave you here alone either, Dean,” stated Cas. “Your wing is damaged. You will be vulnerable.”

Turning to face Cas, Dean counted to ten, reminding himself that Castiel was not a soldier. “Oh, so you're gonna stay and protect me?”

“I have shielding power. I have shown you that I am a valuable warrior.”

Dean loomed over Cas, who did not back down. “A warrior? You're dead weight is what you are.” He was a brave little guy, Dean would give him that. And he was going to get himself killed.

Sam grabbed Dean's shoulder. “Dean. I'm fast. You know I'm the fastest angel in the garrison! And right now two of the three of us can't fly.”

Dean gritted his teeth. Sam was not only fast, he was smart. Dean made himself listen. “What do you wanna do?”

Sam took a deep breath. “I wing it to the depot, grab a can of gas and fly back. Meanwhile, you get the fuel line repaired, and Cas keeps watch. Cas, you can sense when demons are nearby, can't you?”

Castiel blinked in confusion, but then nodded. “Yes, it appears that I can.”

But Castiel had never been out in the open before! Dean tried to keep his voice even. “I don't know Sammy. He doesn't even know how to use his own magic!”

Sam fluffed out his wings. “It's gonna be dark in a couple hours. Face it, Dean, it's our best chance.”

“What if you run into demons?”

Sam grinned. “I can outrun them, you know I can. I won't fight them, just outfly them.”

Dean stood, silent.

“And you know the kid can handle himself. Look, have him practice his shield stuff while you're working on the car.”

Dean stared at the horizon. He felt cornered: no good options. If only that stupid snake thing hadn't cut the fuel line! Yeah, he and Sam had been in tight corners before, but now Dean literally had one wing tied behind his back, and that dumb human kid under his protection. Cas wasn't a soldier! He had never been out of the nest before.

Not out of the _nest_ , out of the Citadel - he wasn't even an angel! 

“Dean?”

Dean grabbed Sam by both shoulders. “You fly straight there and straight back. Do not engage the enemy! Fly low, stay out of sight. Your wings are dark, that will help. And come straight the fuck back! Understood?”

Sam stepped back and gave a lazy, human-style salute. “Aye aye, captain!”

“Sam!”

Sam gave his great wings a flap. “An hour here, an hour back. Maybe a little more, carrying the gas cans. I'll be back before you know it! And be nice to the kid.” With a grin, Sam was awing. Dean stared until he had turned to a distant silhouette. If he didn't make it back, no two ways about it, they were fucked. Wing injuries happened – both Dean and Sam had gotten banged up before, it was bound to happen when you were fighting. But they were extremely serious. A broken wing could kill an angel. And get a sprain at the wrong time – like now – and things could be bleak. Much as Dean hated hauling around those feathery masses sometimes, angels were made to fly. And wings didn't only grant them the air, they served as shields, and focused their magic (though Dean rarely made use of magic). 

Someone cleared their throat.

“How may I assist you with the repairs?” asked Cas, who was still clutching the Moonstone box. 

_Well, you always daydreamed about being human_ , Dean told himself. 

“You can stay outta the fucking way,” Dean snapped. Cas looked crushed, so Dean hastily added, “You can- You can hand me stuff. I guess.” He forced himself to think of the situation at hand, and not the increasingly bad possibilities. “First thing, let's roll the car off the fuel spill so we don't end up in flames.” 

“All right, Dean!” Cas set the Moonstone box carefully by the side of the road, and then commenced looking way too much like an eager puppy. To be honest, the skinny kid wasn't going to be much help getting this whale of a car started rolling. At least the area was pretty flat, so once they got her going, they would be fine.

Dean opened the driver's side door and disengaged the parking brake. He grabbed the steering wheel. “I'll just-”

The car jerked and started to move. Dean whirled around. Cas was standing behind the car, feet planted, hands outthrust, and one of his shield things was wrapped around the end of the Impala, nudging it along. “How far?” he grunted, his brow furrowed in concentration.

“Get it off the spill,” Dean yelled back. “I'll say when!” OK, he told himself, maybe the weird kid wasn't so useless. The car coasted down the road. “All right!” Dean hollered once they were clear. Cas stopped pushing, and sat down hard on the asphalt, wiping his brow. 

Dean grabbed one of the water bottles out of the car and walked it back to Cas. “You all right?”

“I am fine, Dean. Thank you.” But he grabbed the water bottle and downed half of it in one go.

Dean dropped down beside him. “You're pretty good at that shield thing. Is that something you got from a book at the Citadel?”

Cas choked on his water, and Dean leaned over to pound him on the back. “Book,” Cas muttered. “Yes, it was … in a book.”

“Be careful with that water,” said Dean. “Hey, you hungry? We could get you another PB&J.”

“I am fine, Dean. We should attend to the car.”

Dean cast his eyes at the car. This was going to be unpleasant. Usually, Dean enjoyed working on human automobiles – he found it calming. But he wasn't looking forward to crawling around underneath the car. They had jack stands along of course, but he hadn't bought along a creeper. Usually he'd just break out his wings and just use the for a cushion, but there was no way he wanted to rest his weight on an injured wing. Still, no way around it. 

He stood and, with Cas following along like a curious puppy, popped the trunk. He pulled out his jack and a couple of jack stands.

“What are you doing, Dean?”

“We're gonna need to raise the car up so I can crawl underneath.” Dean handed the stands to Cas, who regarded them with some suspicion.

“I could use my magic to keep the car lifted!”

Dean set down the jack and regarded Cas for a moment. “Uh, that's all right, we'll just do it my way for now. You can … hand me stuff. Or something.” Like all angels, Dean used magic, but he didn't much trust it, especially when he had a couple tons of Chevy Impala above him. He talked Cas through jacking up the car, and then satisfied himself that it was braced on the stands. 

“All right,” he told Cas. “Now I'm gonna have to crawl around underneath to find the leak, and then clip off the part that's damaged. And … it might suck.”

“You don't like working on cars, Dean?”

Dean shook his head as he picked up a woolen blanket and shook it out. “Aw, hell no, I love cars! Something you humans do really well. It's just gonna suck crawling around on the road, what with my wing damaged.” This was going to be tricky: often when your wing got cracked like that, the pain would extend to your shoulder, even when you put your wings away. He shrugged his left shoulder, feeling the shooting pain. This might not be pleasant.

He sat down, and then lay back on the blanket, wincing as his shoulder took his weight. He wriggled around. Well, it wasn't great, but it should be all right. He tried reaching up. OK, so far so good.

Then he tried scooting back under the car, sliding under the car, but cried out as a burning pain shot through his shoulder and down his back. He sat up, cursing a blue streak, tears welling up in his eyes. 

“Are you uncomfortable, Dean?” asked Cas, who thankfully did not comment for once on Dean's colorful language. “Sometimes, when a wing is damaged....”

“I know, I know, it knocks out your shoulder. Dean rubbed his arm. This was bad: it felt like he'd broken his wing all over again.

“Could I work underneath the car instead?”

“I could try talking you through. But you have no idea in hell.” Dean sighed. “I'm just gonna have to deal with it.”

Cas was silent for a moment, thinking. “Wait, Dean! I have an idea.” 

Cas crouched down beside Dean and began to do his shield thing. This time, he sent it spinning around, like a potter at work on a wheel, hands carefully shaping the edges. After a few moments of intense concentration, he stopped. The shield was floating parallel to the ground, but an inch or two above it. Cas reached over and pushed on it with his hand. It stayed where it was.

“What is that?” asked Dean.

Eyes shining with pride, Cas stood up and rested a foot on the shield. He pushed off with his other foot, and rode around on it, like it was a little hoverboard. 

“Uh, yeah, that's pretty cool.” It _was_ , Dean had to admit.

“Garth used to like me to make them. We would ride around the Citadel!”

“Yeah, but why are you … oh!” Cas kicked the shield over towards him. 

Dean extended a foot and pushed his toe into the center. “Uh, this won't cut my legs off, will it?”

“No, Dean! It's safe. I made it with care. See?” Cas crouched down and brushed a hand along the edge. “Rounded edges. I must concentrate very carefully to create these objects!”

Dean stood there a moment, uncertain, so Cas sat down on the shield, and then lay back all the way, and propelled himself underneath the car. And then he slid back out. It was better than a creeper! Hell, it was better than wings.

“Shit! Shit that's awesome!”

Dean gave Cas a hand up. Cas beamed with pride.

Dean sat down on the creeper-shield, suddenly wishing he had time to skate around on one. “How long will it last?”

“I believe it will be about half an hour. Perhaps an hour at most.”

Dean cracked a grin. “That should be all I need. I work fast!” He lay down and slid under the car, but then, one moment later, slid back out, beckoning to Cas. “You're deputized. Come on.”

The underside of a car: here was an issue Dean could deal with. Expert hands traced from the gas tank and along the fuel line. He saw Cas sliding along beside him. “See? This is where that asshole demon cut my fuel line.”

“I see it, Dean.”

“So, what do we have to do?”

Cas turned his head, his face very near now, brow wrinkled in through. “We could … patch it?”

Dean had to smile. The kid was quick. And cute. Wait, cute? No, that thought hadn't crossed his mind. _Concentrate!_ “That's a good idea, but the pressure is pretty high, so a patch usually isn't a solution.”

Cas traced a long finger along the damaged line. He had lovely hands. “Would it be possible to replace it? Do we have the appropriate parts?” A searching glance. He was so near now.

_Fuel line, Dean._ “We gotta improvise a little. Here's what I'm thinking. I got some fuel grade hose in the trunk that oughta work. We need to clip away the damaged part.” He traced two fingers along either side of the break. “We cut this off, here and here. Cut a section of my tubing, and clamp it on real good. That oughta hold, at least until we get to the depot.”

And they were staring at each other again. Did Cas not learn to look away like he was supposed to? He licked his lips, and Dean found himself pushing a thumb along Cas's mouth, to wipe away a spot of grease.

“Dean?”

_Don't get distracted. Fuel line._ “We need to cut here and here.”

“Yes, Dean.”

He was repeating himself. Dumb! 

Cas was glaring at the fuel line. “I believe I can cut this with my magic, Dean.” He extended a hand.

“No no no no no!” Dean grabbed Cas's hand and pulled it down. This, of course, drew him in very close to Cas.

They stared for a moment. Cas licked his lips. “No?” He looked so sad. Dean wanted to cheer him up, tell him everything would be all right, maybe after a brief make out session.

“Dean?”

“Sparks,” Dean blurted.

“Sparks?”

Dean scooted himself away from Cas. “Sparks. Your little saw things would make sparks.”

“All right.”

Dean struggled to get his brain back on track. He reminded himself that he had to work quickly, before Cas's weird shield creeper thing disintegrated. “How about this: you go take the hose, and cut me a piece about this long.” Dean measured with his fingers, and then grabbed a pen from his pocket and marked it out on Cas's forearm. “Can you do that?”

“Yes, Dean!” Cas scooted himself out, and Dean was left alone with his thoughts for a moment. He decided he needed a different sized clipper, and, slid on out from under the car. He stood up and then, just because he could, put a foot on the creeper and slid around the car to the trunk. Damn! That was awesome! He rummaged around in the trunk and grabbed what he was looking for, and then skated back, maybe taking a detour around the car a couple times on the way, because, damn!

Cas had all his attention directed towards a teeny, tiny shield. 

“That looks great, Cas,” said Dean, regarding the length of hose. He noticed the back of Cas's coat was dirty. “You can take the coat off, you know. This is not a good place to wear a nice suit, especially if you're helping me under the car.”

Cas glanced down at his tie. “It's all I have, Dean.”

“I got a shirt. Come on.” Dean grabbed a sports bag out of the trunk and pulled out a T-shirt that was almost clean. Cas had shrugged out of the long coat and the suit jacket and thrown them in the back seat, but was now fussing with the tie – it had only gotten tighter.

“Wait, wait, don't strangle yourself!” Dean warned.

“Ellen generally fixes my tie for me,” Cas confessed.

“Geez, they never let you out by yourself before?”

“No.”

Dean bit his lip. Of course he hadn't! Castiel's first venture outside into the real world, and he was going to be eaten by demons. 

No, goddammit, that was never gonna happen! Dean loosed Cas from the tie, and Cas began unbuttoning his dress shirt, which for some odd reason seemed to take forever. Dean stood and watched as button after button after button opened up, revealing a flawless, pale-skinned chest. Dean found himself humming stripper music under his breath, and made himself stop. Cas pulled the shirt down, but got frustrated when the sleeves would not pull off of his wrists.

“Dean?”

“Yeah?” Such pretty skin. Dean wondered if it was as soft as it looked?

“Dean, my shirt appears to be stuck.”

“Yeah.” Cas wasn't as thin as Dean had believed – his torso was all wiry muscles. A sweat drop traced down from his neck, down the front of his chest, over his tummy.

'Dean?”

“Cuffs!” said Dean, suddenly shaking himself out of whatever dumb trance he kept falling into around Cas. “Did you unbutton your cuffs?” He grabbed a wrist and managed to extricate Cas from his shirt. And then he stood for a while, holding the T-shirt. 

“You had a shirt for me?” Cas prompted. Dean tossed Cas's dress shirt in the back seat and held up the T-shirt – it had always been too small for him, so it should work fine on Cas. Cas pulled it over his head. It actually fit a little tight, which meant it was utterly, utterly perfect.

“What is our next task, Dean?”

“We will, uh....” _I will think about that perfect stomach._ “Clamps! We need to grab the clamps. Can you reach me that metal box under the back seat?”

Cas opened the back door and bent down. Dean stood on the roadside for a moment, quite frankly enjoying the view. Why the hell was he getting so distracted by a pretty human? Yeah, Cas was awfully damned attractive, but what was the deal? Was it the sun? Maybe cracked a wing had addled his brain? Dean wouldn't have minded waking up next to that, back in town. He wondered about how to get the pants off, and then wrenched his own mind out away from naked humans bouncing in his bed back home, and back to fixing the fuel line.

For the first time in his life, Dean found himself wishing for wings. More than anything, he wanted to grab Cas and fly him back to safety.

Cas stood up, proffering the box. Dean rummaged around for a set of clamps. Then he noticed Cas had gotten a grease stain on his suit pants, so first he grabbed a pair of blue jeans from the extra clothing bag and banished Cas to change into something clean. Then Dean slid himself back under the car to hook up the brand new fuel line. 

The line looked good, and Dean came up to the sight of Cas wearing pants a size too big, revealing a rather delicious-looking swath of bare human skin and a pair of the world's most edible hipbones. “You driven a car before, Cas?” he thought to ask. While Dean watched a little too closely, Cas got a quick lesson in turning over the ignition. The fuel line held. 

The creeper shield dissolved into the air. A half hour had gone by.

Now there was nothing to do but wait for the gasoline.

And Sam.


	3. Chapter 3

_MANY YEARS AGO_

_(Though not as many years as last time. We didn't really write a timeline. Hey, WE ARE BUSY AND IMPORTANT PEOPLE!)_

 

“You doing OK, little nugget?”

Castiel sat in front of the monitor. He had seem all the documentaries several times. He'd read all the books. He had run around, eaten some tasty applesauce, and taken a nap.

But sometimes, he just felt a little sad. And a little lonely.

“I'm fine,” he told Garth. It wasn't polite to be ungrateful.

Garth crouched down next to Castiel. “You sure?

“I'm sure,” Castiel moped.

“Because … Mr. Fizzles can tell if you're a liar!” Garth suddenly held up his hand next to Castiel. He had slid on a crude sock puppet with red button eyes.

“That is a sock, Garth,” said Castiel.

“Aw!” said Garth, as if stung. The sock made a sad sock face. “Now, see what you done?”

Castiel was immediately regretful. “I'm sorry! Please convey to Mr. Fizzles that I apologize!”

The sock puppet reluctantly emerged from where it was hiding in the crook of Garth's arm. “You're sorry?” it asked.

“Yes!” Castiel's eyes were wide and sincere. “I'm sorry. I'm sad today, Mr. Fizzles.”

“Castiel is sad?” asked Ellen, who had just come into the room along with Rufus.

“Well, we can't let that happen!” said Rufus, who sat down next to the boy.

Castiel turned around. “I shouldn't feel sorry for myself.”

“Happens to all of us, kiddo!” said Rufus. “Don't get your feathers in a ruffle.”

“He was just telling Mr. Fizzles all about it,” said Garth. Rufus rolled his eyes.

“I know the solution,” said Ellen. “It's time for the top shelf!” Ellen kept a few of her favorite DVDs up on a high shelf that only the angels could get to. Not to say that Castiel hadn't tried to climb up there a time or two when no one was watching. “Rufus? Do you want to do the honors?”

Rufus crossed his arms. “I know the kid is grumpy, but I ain't watchin' Sound of Music again!”

“Rufus,” Garth ventured. “I think it's time for the King.”

“The King!” said Rufus. Ellen nodded in approval, so Rufus broke out his awesome silver wings and flew on up to the high shelf, where he grabbed a DVD and came back down, huffing and puffing.

“You need more exercise.”

“I get plenty of exercise, woman!” He handed over the disk to Ellen.

“Can you read this, Castiel?”

“ _A Change of Habit_!” said the boy, his eyes already bright. 

_“It's called rubberneckin',”_ sang Rufus, and they all sat down to watch. It was a great film, one of Cas's favorites. The King played a handsome doctor, and he fell in love with a pretty girl. There was a lot of singing and dancing. 

But partway through, Cas found himself surrendering to melancholy once again. He wondered if he would ever find someone to fall in love with, and if so, if there would be singing and dancing? And if so, how did people get to know their songs? He didn't have a great singing voice, would this keep him from finding love?

So many questions.

 

_THE PRESENT DAY_

_(Still stuck out in the desert, and the King is nowhere near.)_

 

Castiel thought to ask when Sam was due. He assumed it would be at least another hour, but perhaps he had misheard? They had been much involved in repairing the car, so it honestly hadn't crossed his mind, but now the sky was darkening and the desert was growing cold. But just as he was going to ask, Dean decided that Cas needed to practice using his shielding powers in an offensive manner. It went against everything Ellen had taught him, but Castiel was now very worried about his new friends, Sam and Dean. At least, he thought they were friends. They had a nickname for him. Or maybe he was what was considered a brother in arms? That sounded very romantic!

Cas used his shield energy to behead some scrubby plants. It was dark, and getting cold, and his stomach began to growl.

“Aw, shit, Cas, why didn't you ask about eating something?” asked Dean. “I keep forgetting you're not an angel.”

Cas felt his face form into a smile. Dean's praise lifted his spirits like nothing he had ever experienced. Dean fixed Cas a PB&J and made him drink water and they had plenty of chips and things called granola bars. 

“What did you eat all the time you were in the Citadel, Cas?”

“When I was small, apparently there was something called powdered formula. Garth told me about it. And there were cans. There were strained beets, and strained peas, and applesauce....”

“Wait a minute, that's food for babies!”

“Well, that's all there was.” Cas licked the peanut butter off his fingers. He rather liked peanut butter.

“What if they'd run out?”

“They came close. I suppose I would have died. Eventually.”

“Jesus, Cas!” Dean looked terribly worried about this. 

“But Sam rescued me. And now I am free to eat the Pee, Bee and Jay!”

Dean suddenly put a concerned hand on Cas's shoulder. Cas studied his face. Perhaps Dean was feeling uncomfortable due to his wing injury?

“May I attend to your wings now, Dean?” 

“What?”

“You are injured, and badly in need of preening.” Rufus got terribly fussy when he hadn't been preened. He could just imagine how irritated Dean felt – his feather were a mess!

Dean appeared skeptical, but at length brought out his magnificent red wings. Cas paused for a long moment. He'd really never seen anything so rare and beautiful. He felt it was an honor that Dean allowed him to touch these lovely wings.

Dean was clearly very tensed up, so Cas began with his good wing. Meanwhile, he grabbed some cold packs out of the cooler and had Dean hold them against the sore part of his other wing. He worked with great care, plucking out stragglers, and straightening up the lush red feathers. He could feel Dean slowly relax as he worked. He wished he had brought some oil to smooth over everything, but figured he might be able to work on Dean's wings at a later time. For now, he just wanted to get everything untangled.

Dean flapped out the wing, nearly knocking Cas over. “Oh, sorry, dude!” 

“Are you all right, Dean?” Cas inquired. The angel looked a little woozy. His pupils were dilated, as if he'd been into the whiskey, like Rufus and Ellen liked to do sometimes.

“Can you get the other wing?” Dean asked, wincing as he unfolded it. Cas started work from where the wing joined Dean's back, carefully working outwards, and aware of the injury. His hands were strong and sure from so many years of doing the same job for his guardians at the Citadel. He had never had to work with this bad an injury (though he'd read about them in the Citadel's angel physiology books) but occasionally, they would strain something when exercising. Rufus was especially bad at is, as he used to let days go by without flying, and then he would try to outdo Garth. 

He finished up, and then stood back to admire his handiwork. “Your wings – they're so beautiful,” he muttered. And then he blushed, as it sounded like he was praising himself, which Ellen had told him not to do.

Dean brought his wings in. “Ugh. Red feathers.”

“They're unusual!”

“Yeah, they're weird,” Dean mumbled. He didn't seem pleased about his gorgeous wings. This made Castiel sad. He hadn't any wings at all, which he thought was the worst fate.

“Hey, are you cold?” Dean asked him. The temperature had dropped very quickly, and Cas realized he was shivering. 

“I- I'll go get my coat out of the car.”

“No! No need for that. Come here.” He beckoned Cas over, extending his good, right wing. Cas couldn't believe his good fortune. He sat down next to Dean, who curled his wing around him. Cas let out a sigh. It was an honor to be wrapped inside an angel's wings. Ellen had told him that generally angels only did this with their mates. It was so soft and warm. He thought he could have died happily at that moment.

“We could start a fire, but I'm afraid it would attract demons,” Dean explained.

“This is fine,” Cas told him. “This is perfect, Dean.” And it was.

“Hey, thanks for the feather … thing.”

“The preening? We can do a better job once we get back to the city.”

“Oh. Uh.” This seemed to take Dean by surprise. Perhaps Dean already had an attendant designated to do his preening? He was an important angel. Well, they weren't doing a terribly good job, in Castiel's opinion.

They sat in contented quiet for a while. Cas decided to venture an important question. “Dean, are we friends?”

Dean laughed and curled his wing tighter around Cas. “Why do you wanna know?”

“You- I'm sorry, I was out of line.” Obviously, he had been too forward. How could he hope to be friends with an important angel like Dean?

“No, no Cas! You fixed up my wings, and helped me with the car, and even helped when Sam and I were fighting the demons.” Dean paused for a moment, thoughtful. “Yeah, we're friends. Sure!”

“I don't think I've had friends before.”

“Maybe you haven't. You've had ... a weird life.”

Cas sighed. “I'm weird.”

“No, Cas! You're not weird! I mean, _unusual_ , yeah. You're great!”

Cas turned around to face Dean. They were quite close. Dean's face was so kind. Cas had noticed that his skin was splashed with little patches the color of his feathers. Freckles, that was the word. Such a unique coloration!

Dean's hand was now resting on Cas's thigh, but he was looking off in the distance, as if trying to puzzle something out. “I don't know why, but I like being around you, Cas. I don't know you, but I feel … _comfortable_ , I guess?” 

Dean glanced at Cas, his hand still gently rubbing up and down Cas's leg. It must be all right to touch, Cas thought, and so he extended a tentative hand to trace down Dean's cheek, at the miracle of his freckles. 

“Cas, I-” Dean whispered. Cas hushed him with a gentle touch to his lips. And then, slowly, he leaned forward, gently placing his lips on Dean's. He had seen this happen in films, though he had never been able to try it. It felt sweet. And soft.

Then something remarkable happened: Dean grabbed Cas by the hips and pulled him onto his lap. Cas thought at first that they were about to sing and dance, as happened in the movies Ellen liked to watch when people were kissing. He was suddenly nervous, as he had never danced before, and wasn't certain how he would manage the steps.

But Dean continued to hold him tightly, pressing their bodies together, deepening the kiss, and Cas suddenly realized that this might end up more like the films that Rufus liked to watch, late at night, and they had better not tell Ellen! Cas fumbled a moment, unsure of where to place his hands, finally wrapping his arms around Dean's neck. Unfortunately, there were never angels in those kinds of movies, so Cas wasn't quite sure what to do about the wings. 

It was thrilling: Cas found he liked the sensation of Dean's tongue in his mouth, especially because it meant he wouldn't have to sing.

Dean shifted, and came down wrong on his sore wing. He flinched and drew back. 

“Dean?”

“It's OK, baby,” Dean whispered. “I'm cool.”

_Baby?_ Did Dean mistake him for a fledgling? Castiel was 22 years old, which was hardly young for a human. He was going to explain this, but Dean started to run his lips along Cas's neck, and it turned out to be quite distracting. Castiel gazed up at the night sky, the gathering stars twinkling. It occurred to him that he had never actually seen stars in the sky before, only on the DVD records. But it was nothing like this, being surrounded by the night sky.

Cas squinted.

One of the stars was moving.

Cas scrambled off Dean's lap. “Dean!”

“Cas - you OK?”

Cas whipped up one of the little buzz saw shields and threw it at the demon that was diving down at them. He didn't have a lot of time, so the thing wasn't aimed perfectly, and only wounded the demon, but it turned it aside just in time.

“Son of a bitch!” Dean thundered. In an instant, he had banished his wings and conjured his flaming sword, the blue flames glowing in the darkness. “Keep down, Cas! I've got this!”

But Cas was already busy, throwing out little saws. There were only about half dozen demons in the raiding party, and the were smaller than the ones that had beset them before, but they were quick and seemed more intelligent. Dean killed a couple of them swiftly with his sword, but he was hampered by his inability to fly. Cas had a sudden inspiration. He huddled down and worked quickly. “Dean!” he yelled, kicking the creeper-shield over to Dean. 

“What?” asked Dean, but he quickly understood, leaping aboard, outrunning a demon and getting it in the heart while laughing in glee.

Cas smiled at his own quick thinking, but then his heart froze. A demon had grabbed his box where it still sat beside the road. “No!” he yelled, giving chase, and throwing out a barrage of little shield buzz saws as the demon struggled to take flight. He leapt and tackled the demon, and for a moment they wrestled over the box. Cas managed to grab it, but then the demon, which was roughly his size but with twice as many limbs and a tail, whacked it out of his hands with its long, barbed tail. Cas grasped for the box, and a clawed hand came up, ready to rip him apart. But the demon froze and sputtered as Dean's sword ripped through its heart. It gasped and rolled off Cas.

Dean offered a hand up. “I think that's all of them. You OK?”

“The box!” yelled Cas, who leapt over to retrieve the it. It was lying in the bottom of a ditch, wide open, and a soft music played. 

Cas grabbed the box and quickly slammed it shut. Dean came up behind and snatched it out of his hands. “What the hell?” He opened the box and watched in disbelief as a tiny ballerina rotated around to a tinkling tune. “What is this? Is this a joke? This is a kid's jewelry box. Where the hell is the Moonstone?”

Cas was on his knees, fighting back tears. He had messed up. Ellen would never forgive him! That was his most important vow. He wasn't supposed to say – not even to Dean, who called him friend. 

Dropping the box, Dean grabbed Cas by the collar and wrestled him to his feet. It was so different from just moments ago, when they both had been together, nestled in Dean's soft wings. “Cas, goddammit, I want answers, and I want them now! We nearly got cooked by demons! My brother is still gone, he might be in the same boat! What the hell? Talk! Now!”

There was no way around it. “Dean … there is no Moonstone.”

“What?” Dean released his grip, but he still radiated fury. “What the fuck? What are you trying to pull?”

“I'm not … _pulling_ anything Dean. Let me explain.”

“How the hell am I gonna believe anything that comes outta your mouth? I thought we were guarding the fucking Moonstone, not...” Dean gave the box a kick. “This is bullshit! Moonstone, Earthstone, what the hell?”

Cas closed his eyes and struggled to make the story come out right. He would tell the story the way the narrator would, he would try to make it clear. “There was a Moonstone. Ellen and her soldiers secured it. In the Citadel. I was very young. They were fighting, and so gave the stone to me for safekeeping.”

“Wait, when you were a kid?” Dean asked.

“I was … two years old? I don't recall clearly. This was what was told to me.”

“You were....” Dean frowned. “Wait, Garth did this, right?”

Cas's eyes popped open. “Yes. Yes, how did you know?”

“Forget it. Go on. Garth gave the world's most valuable artifact to a toddler. Great. And what? You put it in your mouth and used it as a binky?”

“Yes.”

Dean went silent. “Wait. Seriously? Don't bullshit me, Cas.”

“I am not … _bullshitting_ , Dean. I vaguely recall receiving the stone. When they returned, it was gone. And … and we had been shut inside the Citadel. But as I aged I began to manifest … powers.”

“Jesus. _You're_ the Moonstone? Fuck me!”

“I suppose.... I suppose that is one way of putting it?”

Dean was deep in thought now. “So where's the Earthstone?”

“I have no idea.”

Dean had gone from hot anger to cold fury. “What?”

This was worse than Cas could have ever imagined. “I- I had never heard of it before our … quest.”

“But you told us where to go!”

“Yes. I asked of my magic what we should do next-”

“You just led us on a wild goose chase across the desert?”

Cas scowled. Angry Dean did not intimidate him, but this serious Dean, it chilled him to the bone. “There were no geese, nor any fowl-”

“Screw that! So are the demons attacking Sammy too?”

“I- I have no idea, Dean.”

“No, of course you don't. Son of a bitch.” Dean was pacing back and forth in agitation. He halted, as if an idea had come to him. Cas stood by, miserable with the notion that he had found and lost his first friend, all in one day. He heaved a self-pitying sigh. How he longed to return to the Citadel. At least there, he hadn't been able to cause anybody harm!

“Come on,” muttered Dean, who strode off towards the car. “Bring the box!” he yelled over his shoulder. Cas scrambled back and retrieved the Moonstone box, and then hurried after Dean, who was now muttering to himself and rummaging around in the trunk. “Sage,” he grumbled. “No, not like this. And what was that other thing? Oh, yeah.”

Cas stood clutching the box, watching closely. “Is this a spell, Dean?” he ventured.

“Yeah. It's a spell.” Dean tore around into the car, and began rifling through the glove compartment. “What was that other thing? Dammit, Sammy. Why aren't you here?”

Dean climbed out and came back around to the trunk. “What spell?” Cas asked softly.

“If you don't know shit about this, we're gonna conjure someone who might have information.”

“Who?”

Dean huffed in annoyance and leaned in close to Cas. “I'm gonna summon the Crossroads King.”

“Oh,” said Cas. He mused about this for a moment. “Don't you need a crossroads?”

“We got one.”

Dean threw a couple more ingredients into his sports bag, and then threw one of them back out. “No, that's not it.”

“You are aware that the Crossroads King is a folk story?” Cas ventured.

“Yeah. You got a better suggestion?”

Cas was silent as Dean muttered and cursed under his breath. 

“Dean-”

“Just shut up. You're pretty, but you're a jerk.”

“I am not a jerk!” Cas thundered.

“Fuck you, you lying human,” Dean countered.

Cas brought up a middle finger and thrust it into Dean's face. “You're … an angel fuck mother!” he shouted. “With … untended feathers!”

One side of Dean's mouth edged up. “Hey! Don't say that about my feathers.”

Cas's eyes went wide. “Oh, I'm sorry.”

“And don't apologize! We're arguing.”

Castiel had reached the end of his rope. “I don't know the rules! I don't know what I'm supposed to do! You are frustrating!”

Dean sighed and leaned a hip against the fender. “Yeah. That's true.”

Cas stared at Dean. He, too, leaned against the car, and for a while, they gazed at one another. Finally he said, “Graveyard dirt.”

“What about-?” Dean turned to him. “Oh, shit yeah!” He pulled up the trunk's false bottom and yanked out a jar. Then he turned to Cas. “What else?”

“Yarrow.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “What the fuck is that? It sounds like a folk group!”

“It's a flower. May I?”

Though he kept glaring, Dean stepped aside. Cas poked through the various bottles and vials in the trunk, and grabbed the appropriate one. At length, they tucked the ingredients into a bag, and Dean shouldered it, along with a shovel, which was also inside the rather impressively capacious trunk. “C'mon,” Dean grunted, and Cas, relieved that Dean seemed to have found some measure of forgiveness, hastened after him.

“Wait!”

Cas froze and held his breath.

Dean pointed to his feet. “Shoes.”

Cas regarded his bare toes. “I am not wearing shoes, Dean. I took them off to change into these trousers.”

“Jeans. You need shoes.” Dean dropped the shovel and bag and marched over to the trunk, where after a moment he tossed a pair of boots and heavy socks in Cas's general direction. Eager to cause no more trouble with his companion, Cas hurriedly donned them, and then they took off, marching away from the highway, out across the dark, cold desert, Dean carrying the bag and shovel, and Cas clutching the empty Moonstone box to his chest.


	4. Chapter 4

_A VERY LONG TIME AGO_

_(We’re jumping back almost 20 years this time. Yeah, it’s a while. But this is pretty cute.)_

 

“You still haven’t found the Moonstone?”

Rufus grunted and rolled his eyes. “I’ve been giving that young human’s … excrement … a thorough search. Believe me! I can’t believe the kinds of stuff that oozes out of a fledgling like that. And both ends!”

“Yes, but you haven’t seen-“ Ellen pressed.

“It hasn’t come out yet, no way, no how!” Rufus sighed and rested his chin on his hands. It had now been two months since they had been locked away inside the Citadel. And two months since they had lost the relic that originally brought them here. 

At first, Rufus – who had a sense for such things – was convinced that the Moonstone was located somewhere inside the digestive tract of the young human, Castiel. But as the days passed, and the stone did not, he became less and less convinced, as the magical signals he was receiving became more and more vague. 

Rufus had gone through the young being’s poopy diapers with a sense of purpose. Garth, who had by now read several books on human child care, was in charge of feeding and changing the being. But neither had seen any trace of the powerful object, though between the two of them, they had now witnessed things that, in Rufus’s opinion, no angel should have to experience.

Garth came into the room, his robes splattered with a mix of applesauce and what looked like either vomitus or strained peas, which meant it was yet another feeding time for the vexsome tot. “Hey you guys,” he said. “I think you need to see this.”

“See what?” asked Rufus, snapping to attention. “Is it the stone?”

“Uh, no. It’s strained beets.”

“What?”

Garth gestured and left the room, Ellen and Rufus hurrying after him. They found Castiel seated on the floor, smiling widely, completely slathered in whatever it was Garth had been trying to feed him. 

“How the hell did you get peas on the ceiling?” asked Rufus, staring upwards in wonder. “It’s gotta be eleven feet up!”

Garth was crouching down on the floor next to Castiel. “Look here, folks.” He picked up a jar of strained beets, dipped in a spoon, and held it out towards the child. “Come on, little nugget. You gotta eat your veggies! Here comes the airplane. Zoom!”

Castiel’s sunny smile quite abruptly clouded over, as his brow beetled with anger. One chubby hand came up, sending the air directly in front of it swirling and fizzling. The incoming airplane of strained beets met with frenetic turbulence, flying out of Garth’s hand.

And then Castiel sat back, smiling again. Rufus stooped over and picked up the spoon, which was now bent at a 90 degree angle. “I’ll be god damned.”

“He don’t like strained beets,” sighed Garth, staring morosely into the half filled jar. “Not one little bit.”

Ellen crouched down close to the boy. “Rufus, is that magic?”

“Pretty sure it is,” said Rufus, twirling the bent spoon. “And I think I know why we haven’t seen the damn Moonstone turn up in this one’s diapers.”

“He absorbed it? Is that possible?”

Rufus tilted his head in the quizzical manner of an angel. “We don’t know much about the Moonstone, and know even less about the boy. I’d say anything’s possible.”

“But what do I do about these beets?” asked Garth.

“Feed him applesauce,” said Rufus, glancing upwards. “And be careful with the strained peas.”

 

_AND WE'RE BACK TO THE PRESENT DAY_

_(And somewhere in the middle of the freaking desert)_

 

Cas was limping.

Dean glanced back, and marched on. They had been walking for around 20 minutes, so the place was near: the kid would make it. The boots Dean had loaned him were the wrong size, and they were probably giving Cas's feet blisters. Good! He deserved it for being an asshole. A cute asshole, but an asshole. 

Or maybe not so much an asshole as stupid. Except he wasn't so much stupid as ignorant, actually. And a liar. Though it was angels who told him to lie. Because angels were assholes. Though Ellen wasn't too much of an asshole. And Garth was just an idiot. Rufus was a big asshole! But more in the way Bobby was an asshole.

Dean mused and marched and thought about stuff. At least it was better than worrying himself sick over Sam. Sam! He wasn't running late yet, but if there was another party of demons after him and Cas, there were bound to be more. 

What puzzled Dean was that the two hordes of demons they'd encountered had been so different – the big dummies and the little dummies. Demons were assholes – even worse assholes than angels, if you want the truth. And the other truth was they spent as much time fighting each other as they did massacring humans. That was one way the angels had finally gotten them in check, set them against each other. But that would mean there were two different tribes looking for the Moonstone. Meaning they were in worse shape than Dean had figured.

Why hadn't he figured this for a set up? He had been so eager to get out of town, he probably hadn't thought it over right. Which sucked, because Sam depended on him to lead these things. If something happened, it would be Dean's fault just as much as Castiel's. 

Cas stumbled, but righted himself, and continued walking. Tough kid, Dean was forced to admit. Well, the place was getting close. Dean had crossed this area countless times when he was awing, so he'd seen this pathway they were on right now. It was a rutted dirt track that ran across the desert, more or less parallel to the roadway in this area. Someone had told him once it was from a wagon train – things tended to persist out here. If Dean had figured right, they should be coming up where it meandered into another path. A crossroads. Yes, there it was!

Dean stopped, and Cas nearly marched right into him, which, even Dean had to admit, was awfully cute. Or would have been if he hadn't been ready to wring Cas's neck for being an idiot. “This is the crossroad, so we dig.”

Cas peered up ahead. Even though the sun had set, the moon was full tonight, so the spot was visible under the eerie light. Cas did his usual bit of acting like a curious puppy, tilting his head and staring at the junction. He pushed at the ground with a toe of his boot.

“The ground is hard here.”

“Well, it's a crossroads!” Dean grumbled, dumping his pack and grabbing the shovel. “Stand aside,” he ordered, giving Cas a little shove back. He thrust the shovel into the ground, where it maddeningly bounced right back. “Oh, fuck me!”

“Dean,” said Cas.

“Not now, Cas.” Dean tried again, with identical results. He pounded the shovel harder, and it nearly bounced out of his hands.

“Dean!” barked Cas. Dean turned, and Cas actually pushed him out of the way. And then he did his weird shield thing, aiming at the ground. He sent a couple of little buzz saws down, and they managed to tear up the top layer of solidly packed earth. 

Cas smiled at Dean, and Dean, shouldering the shovel again, told him, “Quit acting like you were raised by angels.”

Cas, inevitably, said, “I was raised by angels, Dean.”

Dean got a small hole dug, they assembled the ingredients in Cas's Moonstone box, and then Dean buried it. They stood back.

“Uh, there's an incantation, right?” Dean asked.

Cas, damn him, once again stepped forward. _“Daemon, esto subiecto voluntati meae...”_ he began. Cas finished the incantation, and then the both of them held their breath.

“Uh,” Dean said after a while. “Is something supposed to happen? You did that incantation right?”

“Was your yarrow fresh?” Cas snapped.

“Oh, so it's my fault, is it?”

“I did everything correctly,” Cas said primly.

“Oh, like you always do everything right!”

“Dean, the Crossroads King is just a-” Cas stopped short. He pivoted all the way around. Dean peered over the boy's shoulder.

There was a strange little procession coming towards them across the desert. The most distinctive individual was a huge, horned demon, clutching a tiny parasol in its yellowy claws. It held the shade out over a short, dark-haired man. There were also two women sauntering along with him, as well as a monstrous dog that bounded along, and occasionally romped up to the man for head pats.

The party came to a halt across from Dean and Cas. “Oo, nice,” said the petite brunette, crossing her arms and winking at Dean. “But where's your brother? I liked the tall one.”

“These are worth getting out of bed for,” agreed the round-faced demon with badly bleached blond hair, who arched an eyebrow at Cas.

“Or getting _into_ bed for,” answered the first, and they both cackled.

“Ruby, Meg, be silent,” urged the short demon. The women silenced, but both rolled their eyes.

“Your Highness,” said Cas, bowing to the small man.

“What the fuck?” asked Dean.

“This is the Crossroads King, Dean. He is owed our obeisance!”

“What? I don't owe this little fucker anything!” Dean protested.

“You may call me Crowley. Can we get down to business?” bellowed the small man, who had a rather big voice. “The moonlight plays hell on my complexion,” he added, gesturing towards the parasol. “Now! You are from Paradise?” Dean and Cas nodded. “Here is the standard contract,” he announced, unfurling a lengthy sheaf of paper, which rolled out past Dean and Cas and then on and on a considerable distance down the road. The monstrous dog skipped happily after it, sniffing at the end.

“Juliet! Come back to Daddy!” Crowley ordered. The dog bounded back. “At least I have one female in my retinue that manages to listen.”

“I only listen when there's something worth hearing,” said Ruby. 

“You could tell us something,” Meg told Cas and Dean. 

“Oh, definitely, boys.”

“Behave, both of you, or I shall banish you to the salt mines!”

“Who's gonna pull guard duty, boss?” laughed Meg.

“Juliet is a fine guard dog!” Crowley protested.

“Yeah, if you don't wanna be slobbered to death.”

“Don't listen, my princess,” Crowley told the dog.

Dean had had enough. “We don't have time for this crap!”

“Then what kind of contract did you prefer?” asked Crowley, who made the contract disappear with a puff of smoke. “You rousted me out of bed, and then failed to specify. Now, do you wish the same deal as the Paradise City Councilmen?”

Dean and Cas glanced at one another. “The City Council? What did they want?” asked Dean.

“I don't disclose terms,” Crowley fussed, but he found himself on the wrong end of Dean's angel blade. The large demon who was holding the parasol stretched out his arm in an attempt to shield Crowley from the moonshine, but otherwise made no move against Dean. 

“Let me put that another way: what did they want?” Dean repeated, jabbing the blade into Crowley's neck.

“Bodyguards!” Crowley hissed.

“He's an angel, duh!” said Meg, who was fussing with her makeup using a hand mirror.

“What, you want us to get hurt? Or worse, break a nail?” asked Ruby, holding up an admittedly rather nice manicure.

“Crowley,” said Cas, and suddenly, Crowley was staring at the boy.

“What are you, boy?” He took a sniff. “You're human, but you're not.”

“Does he smell as pretty as he looks?” said Meg.

“Cut it out!” said Dean. “I wanna know about the contracts.”

“If you must know, it was the standard ten year,” Crowley confessed. “In return for their souls, I was simply to spread the word among demonkind that some fine idiots were larking about in the desert with the Moonstone. I also made up some business about an imaginary relic, the Earthstone.” He aimed a shrewd glance at Dean. “And that would be you, wouldn't it? Where did you stash the Moonstone?”

“You can't have the Moonstone.”

“I don't want the Moonstone. I want souls. That's my bread and butter. Not some sorry relic no one even knows how to handle.”

Dean backed off, as it seemed the Crossroads King had gotten chatty. “So, you're saying you did this contract with multiple people?”

“Well, the first had the idea about searching for an Earthstone. And then when one after another called me up, I'll admit I made the suggestion. But I don't share terms. Non-disclosure! That's part of every contract.”

“So we were set up,” sighed Dean. 

Crowley appeared quite taken with Cas. “So, how much would you want for this one?” he asked, gripping Cas's face in his hand.

“Get away!” Dean hollered, stepping between the two and breaking out his wings. “Don't touch him!”

“Oo, possessive!” said Ruby. “That very hot.”

“Dammit, all the cute ones are taken,” sighed Meg.

To Dean's annoyance, Cas said, “Dean, I can handle this, thank you.” He turned to Crowley, and flashed him two middle fingers.

“Did you teach him that?” Crowley barked.

“Heh. Yeah,” Dean admitted.

“May I ask a question, Crowley?” asked Cas. 

Crowley slid his malevolent smile back on. “Yes? You want to run away with a Crossroads King, is that it?” Dean put his wings up, but Cas signaled him for calm.

“You said there was a non-disclosure clause in your contract? Does that affect just you, or the contractee as well?”

Crowley puffed out his thin chest. “Both parties. My contracts are rock solid!”

“And if the person fails to keep the terms....”

“Their soul is mine,” said Crowley, who smiled very wide at that notion, licking his lips for good measure. He waved a hand at Ruby and Meg. “That's how I got these two, though why I bothered, I'll never know. Now, is that all?” 

Dean looked at Cas, who nodded.

Crowley turned to go. “Juliet!” The dog bounded over, panting.

“Call us if you need anything,” said Ruby.

“Like a back rub,” added Meg.

“Or a Roman orgy,” said Ruby.

“Girls! Please!” yelled Crowley. “And you,” he grumbled to the large demon with the parasol. “Useless! Utterly useless.” The women turned and sauntered after Crowley, and then the whole party disappeared into the night.

“Dean,” said Cas.

“We were set up. All of us,” said Dean.

Cas was gazing at him wistfully. “Do I hear a note of forgiveness, Dean?”

“Look, I'm sorry I was sore. But I don't like bein' lied to. You understand?”

“I understand.”

“And I'm still worried about Sam.”

“I am as well.”

“We should get back to the car. It's getting close to the time he was due back.”

Cas glanced at the mound where they had buried their offerings. “I- I think we should retrieve the Moonstone box. I think it may be useful.”

“Let's hurry.” Though they had gotten some important information, they had wasted too much time with the Crossroads King, and Dean was getting very anxious about Sam. Demons were lying in wait. On the other hand, Sam didn't actually have the Moonstone, so maybe they would wait to intercept him? That is, if they were halfway intelligent demons. And there was no guarantee on that.

After they gotten Cas's box dug back up, Dean hurried back towards the highway. Cas followed, limping badly now, but not complaining about anything. Dean had probably been too hard on him – he was just a kid! A cute kid with pretty eyes. Wait, this was not the time to get distracted. 

Cursing his injured wing, followed the old wagon track to the point where they needed to turn and head back towards the highway – towards the car.

“Dean!” Cas yelled. Dean figured he was yelling for Dean to wait, as Cas had fallen behind, but instead Cas pointed towards the sky.

Dean's heart seized.

He took off running as fast as he could go. That shadow in the sky was too big to be a bird, but what scared him were the figures in pursuit. Sammy was coming back, but he had a pack of demons hot on his tail.

“Stay back!” Dean yelled over his shoulder, no idea if Cas was close enough to hear. He cursed his injured wing, cursed the demons, cursed the rotten City Council, cursed the Moonstone, cursed Paradise, and cursed the scrubby bushes as he passed them. If he could just get back to the car before Sammy alit, they they'd have a chance. 

He quit cursing and prayed.

The shadow swooped over the car and landed.

The other shadows fell on him.

“Sammy! No!” Dean screamed.


	5. Chapter 5

_MANY YEARS AGO_

_(Back at Ye Olde Citadel again)_

 

_There's a place for us_   
_Somewhere a place for us...._

It was another top shelf movie.

Rufus was sleeping and Garth was exercising. He wasn't sure where Ellen was – she had gone off after she had taken the film down.

_Peace and quiet and open air_   
_Wait for us_   
_Somewhere_

So he let himself cry.

“Oh, baby.” 

Cas flinched. He hadn't known Ellen was nearby, or he wouldn't have let himself show tears. But she was sitting over him, wings wrapped around him. “I know it's a sad movie....”

“Ellen. How will I know the song?”

“What?” She released her grip.

“When someone comes and sings my song, how do I know?”

She smiled wide. Ellen had a pretty smile – the prettiest he'd ever seen, even in films. “Oh, baby,” she said, ruffing his hair. “You'll know. Believe me, you'll know.”

_Somewhere_   
_We'll find a new way of living_   
_We'll find a way of forgiving_   
_Somewhere_

 

_THE PRESENT DAY_

_(But still out in the middle of the fucking desert)_

 

Dean stood, angel blade in hand, staring in horror.

Three demons had Sammy pinned to the ground, holding down his wings, the third with a blade at his neck. 

“Sorry, Dean,” Sam managed to choke out. His face was bloodied. “Wasn't quite fast enough.”

“Yeah. I'll yell at you later,” Dean promised.

“The angel's lost its wings?” tutted another, rather tall demon. These guys were all human in shape – they were probably possessing human bodies, which some of the craftier demons liked to do. They tended to be the older demons – the smarter ones. This was not good news. Dean could trick demons, but the older guys had seen it all, and they were harder to fake out. Not that he wouldn't try.

“What do you want?” Dean asked.

“Give us the Moonstone,” said the tall man. 

“Why?”

“Because we'll slit your buddy's throat.”

Dean kept himself still, though his heart was racing. He was overmatched, especially with a bum wing. “The Moonstone. You know how to use it?”

The demons all exchanged a glance. “Why should we need to?” asked the tall man. “We've got a buyer.”

“Crowley?”

Again, a nervous look went around. “How do you know about Crowley?” asked one of the goons holding down Sam's wings.

“I know things,” said Dean.

“Wrong,” said the tall man.

“Paradise City Council?”

Another awkward silence. “You're out of guesses!” said the tall man. 

Dean cracked the world's least sincere grin. “Come on, man, you always get three guesses.” 

“He's got a point,” said one of the wingmen, obviously a bit dimmer than the others.

“No, he doesn't,” snapped the tall man. “And it doesn't matter to us, one dead angel or two. We can use the wings for feather dusters.”

“But what happens to you guys if you go back without the Moonstone?”

“What does happen to us?” asked the nervous wingman, who Dean noticed loosened his grip on Sam's wing. Sam noticed. He signaled Dean, keep talking.

“We're not going back without it.”

“It doesn't exist,” said Dean with a smirk.

“You're lying.”

Dean spread out his hands. “Would I lie to you?”

At that moment, there was a terrible howl coming from the desert. Demons and angels all turned to see something come streaking out of the dark. 

Dean realized it was Cas, screaming and riding one of his hoverboards, and waving two excellently done middle fingers at the demons. He also realized Cas was riding way too fast. He went careening out of control, and slammed right into the car, where he splayed out on the hood.

As an attack, it was ridiculously ineffective, but as a distraction, it was gold. Dean charged the tall man, and meanwhile, Sam kicked the demon holding the sword on him, whipped his wing out of the clutches of the indecisive demon, and then grabbed the third demon and took flight. 

Dean stuck his sword through the tall man, who collapsed, bleeding to the ground. He heard someone scream his name. Cas kicked the hoverboard over to him. Dean leapt on it and went skating over to the other demons. “Cas, keep that guy down!” he yelled over his shoulder. “We need him alive!”

Cas generated a shield net and splayed it out over the tall man, keeping him pinned to the ground. Dean soon tossed him another guy, and Cas kept that one down too. And then Sam dropped the demon he'd picked up on the remaining demon, and Dean tossed them both under Cas's shield net.

“What the hell is this guy?” asked the tall man, who wasn't looking so tall now, curled under Cas's shield. 

“He's the Moonstone,” said Dean.

“What?” asked Sam.

“You didn't know either, Sammy?”

“I just know what the City Council told me!”

“And you trusted those weasels?”

Sam shrugged.

“Long story, Sammy.” Dean turned back to the demons. “Now, you guys, we need some answers. Who the hell are you all working for?”

The tall man sighed. “Zachariah. On the City Council.”

“What?” asked another demon.

“We're working for Zachariah.”

“I'm not! I'm working for Naomi.”

“I'm not working for either!” chimed in another demon. “I was gonna kill you all and sell to Metatron.”

“You asshole!”

“Hey! Demon! Duh!”

“Wait,” said Sam. “The entire City Council was behind this?”

“Looks like,” said Dean.

“Demons!” Sam demanded. “Were any of you working for Jess?”

The trapped demons muttered, but said nothing.

“Jessica Moore?” 

Silence.

“Anybody? Anybody? Bueller?”

The demons remained silent. 

Sam fluffed up his wings, pumping his fist in triumph. “Awesome! Jess rules!”

“Yeah, great, Sammy,” said Dean with a wry laugh. “The Paradise council has exactly one honest member.”

“But she is Sam's girl,” put in Cas.

“Well,” said Sam, color rising on his cheeks. “Um, anyway, what are we gonna do about this?”

“I have an idea,” said Cas. “It's based on something Crowley told us.”

Dean shook his head. “Demons lie, Cas!”

“But according to the lore, a Crossroads demon is quite fanatical about his contracts.”

Dean and Sam exchanged a glance. “Go ahead, Cas,” said Sam.


	6. Chapter 6

_A COUPLE MONTHS AGO_

_(Paradise, NV)_

 

Dean sat in his chair and tried not to think about his itchy neck. 

Here was a thing: the more you thought about not thinking about an itch, the more it itched.

He sighed carefully shifted in his chair. He was sitting up on the dais inside the auditorium where the City Council held their ultra-boring meetings, and aware that everyone in the audience could see his every move. He had his wings out, because humans apparently liked angel wings and had no clue how fucking uncomfortable it was to try and sit in a chair with fluffy feathers all over the fucking place. Humans were idiots! And it was an official meeting so he had to wear his stupid, itchy robes instead of some nice, comfy jeans and a snuggly flannel shirt. Why did humans invent comfy clothes and then forbid them for any occasion where you needed them, like a boring City Council meeting?

He scanned the audience for a distraction, and was pleased to spy a cute brunette looking his way. One thing you could say about Paradise, it had the most beautiful women he'd ever seen. He gave her his patented smile, and she immediately started fluttering. It was almost too easy.

No, actually, it was too easy. It was getting boring.

Though not as boring as this Council meeting. Nothing could-

“Dean, what do you think?”

Dean's features froze in a look that he hoped did not suggest panic. He scanned around the dais, at the other four board members. The Guardian Angel was the honorary fifth member of the Council, only present to break ties. The thing was, with Zachariah, Metatron and Naomi, he was always stepping into situations where they had ganged up on Jess, so they were constantly calling on him. Which meant he probably should have been listening to them drone on (and on and on) instead of thinking about his itchy neck. But, dammit, it itched!

He saw three pug ugly mugs staring back at him, plus Jess, who said, “The question boils down to, I think, whether we want more friction in the process of leaving Paradise.”

“Why do we even bother to check when people leave?” opined Dean. “If they want out, let 'em!”

“We need to keep track of our citizenry!” Zachariah fired back. “If you had been listening-”

“I'm listening now,” said Dean. “You wanna keep track of citizens? Don't trust 'em?”

The audience started muttering. They did that a lot when Dean spoke. Bobby always told him it meant he should have kept his damned trap shut. 

“As I have explained at length,” said Naomi, “it will be minor change to implement.”

“Look, I don't care,” said Dean, giving his wings a little flap. “I can fly in and out and no one gives me shit.” Oops, probably shouldn't curse at a Council Meeting. “But if you think humans are less trustworthy than angels....” That was a laugh!

The audience had gotten to muttering more, and now there were some people lining up for a chance at the microphone. 

“We hadn't set aside time for public comment on this,” Metatron fussed.

“Set some aside,” said Dean. “What the hell else do you have to do?” Silently, he was cursing himself for prolonging the damn meeting, but these City Council assholes really ruffled his feathers.

Jess was trying to hide a grin. “We'll open the floor to public comment, do you agree, Guardian?”

“Damn straight.” Dean cast his eyes out to the audience, but do his dismay, the cute brunette was getting up up to leave. Dammit! 

Dean hated his life.

 

_THE PRESENT DAY_

_(Another day in Paradise)_

 

The tall angel alit atop the city wall. “The Guardian is coming!” he cried, flapping his huge, dark-feathered wings. “He has the Earthstone!” 

And then, like a great harbinger – though for good or ill, none could say – the angel flew off.

The city fed on gossip. Word had passed through every hairdresser, every bartender, and basically everybody who was anybody in Paradise within the hour. 

Of course, a City Council meeting was called. And soon enough, everyone who was anyone in Paradise was trying to get into City Hall, and even though it was up quite a ways north of the Strip, where most everyone lived and worked, a crowd soon gathered under the solar trees. 

But today the building’s reflective sides remained unyielding and impenetrable, even to those whose names were always on “the list.”

Meanwhile, inside the building, an altercation was taking place between an unstoppable force and an immovable object. 

“Why wasn't I informed of the Guardian's absence from the city?” Rachel demanded, as she was currently playing the role of immovable object. “I haven't been able to reach him by phone for over a day. I was going crazy!”

“Didn't seem like far to go, in your case,” Metatron muttered, his rat-like features crinkling in annoyance. He attempted to step around Rachel, but she was too fast, and stepped in front of him once again.

“And what is this business with an Earthstone?” she demanded.

“Where did you hear about … that?” 

“ _Everyone_ is talking about it.”

“And you believe every piece of idle gossip going around Paradise? Well, in your case, I suppose so. Now, you need to step aside and let me into the hall.” Once again, Metatron attempted to scurry around, and Rachel side-stepped into his path. “Do I need to call security?”

“Security?” oozed Zachariah, who was bustling down the hall, straightening his tie, Hester and Inias trailing in his wake. “Why would we call Security on our friends, Metatron?”

“Zachariah,” drawled Metatron. The big, pig-like man and the little rat-like man stared at each other as only those who despise each other can. 

“I'm sure all our guests would be more comfortable in the press room,” said Zachariah, sweeping a big hand around to Rachel, Hester and Inias.

“I'm not press,” Rachel protested. “I am the Guardian's aide!”

“And I am the Guardian's second aide,” Hester put in.

Zachariah glared down at Inias. “And what do you do?”

“I get coffee,” said Inias, holding up a cardboard tray full of tasty espresso beverages.

“Oh, there's actually someone useful on staff?” sneered Metatron. “How did that happen?”

“As Metatron just stated,” Rachel quickly interjected, to a glare from the rodent-like Concilman, “we are the Guardian's staff. We require access.” Hester nodded. Inias shrugged and pulled his coffee tray out of the reach of Metatron's clutching fingers.

“Why would an angel even need coffee?” Metatron whined.

“We need access,” said Rachel, who took out her cell phone, ostensibly to call somebody important.

A slim woman in a pantsuit marched into the corridor, accompanied by two large men in dark suits. “What is it that you need?” asked Naomi, her face molded into the world's least convincing PanAm smile.

The two large men in dark suits didn't bother with pretending to smile.

“Uh,” said Rachel, who took a step back. So did Hester, Inias, and Inias's coffee.

Zachariah fell back as well, though he tried to appear incredibly interested in the terrible public art piece hanging nearby.

Metatron once again snatched at Inias's coffee tray, and was once again rebuffed. “Ah, Naomi,” he mused. “Here to bring us your own unique ray of sunshine.”

“The sun shines down on all of us,” Naomi told him, and they glared at one another. Zachariah, who obviously felt left out, edged over to get in on the mutual dislike.

Quite suddenly, a shadow flashed in one of the big windows. It resembled a large, dark-winged angel. “The Guardian has returned!” said Rachel, who started down the corridor, only to be rebuffed by Naomi's two flunkies. 

“That actually didn't look like Dean,” offered Inias. “His wings are-” But Rachel gave him a look, and he shut up.

“We'll give the Guardian your regards,” said Zachariah, who strode past the men in suits on his long legs, Naomi hurrying after him. Metatron, who tried one more shot at Inias (who probably would have made a decent point guard), scurried in after them.

The doors to the big room slammed shut, as Naomi's large attendants took up positions flanking it.

Naomi and Rachel stood outside, fuming.

“I'm glad I asked for the mocha extra hot,” Inias ventured.

Inside the auditorium, the trio from the City Council were confronted with the sight of a great, red-winged angel standing on the balcony outside. 

He was carrying an unconscious man in his arms.

Dean strode into the room and up to the dais, carefully laying Cas out on the desk. “I have located the Earthstone,” he announced.

“You have … what?” asked Metatron, casting a skeptical eye on Castiel. “And what is this? Couldn't you have brought bagels instead?”

“The … relic? That's not possible,” said Zachariah.

“Oh?” asked Dean. “Why not?”

“Because...” Zachariah looked at Metatron and Naomi. “You didn't have enough time.”

Dean grinned. “Nope. We were quick.”

“I am happy that you have returned safely,” said Naomi. “We have received reports of demons in the vicinity.”

Dean arched an eyebrow. “Oh? And you knew this when you sent us out?”

Naomi's smile faded. “I have no idea what you are talking about. Why would we do such a thing?”

“When you asked us to find the Earthstone? You guys said it was an emergency!”

“So can we see … the artifact in question?” asked Zachariah.

“Yep!” said Dean, waving a hand at Cas.

There was a pregnant moment of silence. 

“Is this a joke?” asked Metatron.

“Angels never joke,” Dean told him.

Metatron scowled.

“Isn't this the unfortunate boy who was living with the angels?” Naomi inquired. “Perhaps we can offer him some … assistance.”

“He doesn't need help,” said Dean. “He's the Earthstone.”

“How is he the....” Zachariah paused. “How is that possible?”

“He ate it,” said Dean.

“What?”

At that moment, Cas sat up and emitted a rather rude belch. The Councilmen all stepped back in horror.

Dean grinned and patted Cas on the back. “We fed it to him in a PB&J. You can't resist a good sammich, can you, Cas?”

“No, Dean, I cannot resist one of your excellent sammiches,” Cas told them. He shifted around, swinging his legs over the desk.

“Did it grant you powers, Cas?”

“Yes, Dean. It granted us new powers.”

“What powers?” asked Zachariah.

“And what do you mean by ‘us?'” asked Metatron.

Cas narrowed his eyes at the City Councilmen. “Mr. Fizzles can tell when someone is … a liar!” he said, suddenly whipping up his hand.

As one, the City Councilmen edged away. 

Zachariah was the first to recover. “Is that … a sock?”

“He's insane,” said Metatron, who took a step back when Mr. Fizzles (who was indeed a sock, with two white shirt buttons sewn on for eyes) abruptly turned dramatically towards him. 

“Mr. Fizzles does not appreciate such talk,” intoned Cas.

“Castiel,” said Naomi, in her best soothing voice, but the City Council all dove for the floor as the sock puppet sent a spray little buzz saws out of its mouth. The discs whirled over their heads and embedded in the seats.

“Holy crap,” said Metatron, regarding a now decapitated folding seat.

“Now,” said Dean, arching his red wings. “We got that straight, anything any of you wanna get off your chest to Mr. Fizzles?”

“That's not possible,” said Zachariah, who straightened up. “How can that thing tell if I'm lying?”

“For one thing, your mouth is moving,” said Dean.

The doors burst open and several angels stormed into the room – Bobby, Ellen, and Sam – followed by Jessica Moore. 

Ellen was dragging Naomi's large assistants by the scruffs of their necks. She tossed them down on the floor in front of the dais.

“Why was the public not let into this meeting?” Jessica demanded.

“This is an important confidential meeting!” Zachariah told her.

Bobby pointed to Mr. Fizzles. “It's a goddamn sock puppet show?” he asked. Bobby was not one for bullshit.

“We are not prepared to greet the public as of yet,” scolded Naomi.

“Too damn bad, because they're here!” said Ellen, waving a wing at the door, where the townspeople were now flooding into the room, along with Dean's aides. 

“Dean where the hell did you go?” demanded Rachel. 

“You can't go out of town without warning us!” added Hester.

Inias handed Dean his mocha. “I got it extra hot!” he bragged.

Dean pointed to Rachel and Hester. “You two, fired. You,” he said, pointing at Inias. “Promoted.”

“What?” “You can't do that!” Rachel and Hester protested.

“Watch me!” said Dean, happily sipping his mocha and going to stand behind the podium. “Everybody, come on in!” he said, to a slight squeal of microphone feedback. “I'm Dean, your city’s Guardian Angel.”

There were cheers and waves from the crowd.

“Today, I have a very important question for the City Councilmen!” Dean continued. “And remember, Mr. Fizzles is watching!” Cas held up the sock puppet in a threatening manner. Or as threatening as you can get with a sock puppet, anyway.

“Mr. Fizzles?” asked Ellen. Fortunately, her comment wasn't taken up by the microphone. “Garth's puppet?”

Dean looked at each Council member in turn. “My question is this: what do you know about the _Earthstone_?”

Zachariah leaned into a microphone. “Nothing.” 

“Say it,” Dean demanded. Mr. Fizzles opened his sock mouth.

“I don't know anything about any … Earthstone.”

The crowd began to murmur. Zachariah scanned the room in apparent panic, but then appeared relieved when nothing happened.

“It was an honest misunderstanding,” said Naomi.

“What was?” asked Dean. “Be specific.”

“We all thought... That is, I thought....” She glared at Zachariah. “I was led to believe that the Earthstone was an important magical artifact.”

“And what about...?” Dean began. He looked around.

Sam approached the dais, dragging Metatron by the scruff of the neck. He tossed him down on the floor. “This one was trying to leave.”

“You can't stop me from leaving!” said Metatron. “I'm in my rights.”

“Answer the question!” said Dean. Cas held up Mr. Fizzles.

“Fuck you, fuck the Earthstone, and fuck Mr. Fizzles,” spat Metatron as the crowd gasped.

Dean smiled and turned to Jess. “And what about you, Miss Moore?”

Jessica began to speak, but then Sam courteously held out a microphone for her. “I said, I don't know anything about this, but I am shocked by the behavior of my fellow Councilmen.”

“Goody-goody,” mocked Zachariah.

Lightning crackled outside (even though the day was perfectly sunny), and thunder boomed. And quite suddenly, an odd little party of beings was making its way down the stairs of the crowded amphitheater. Crowley, the Crossroads King, led the pack, with a rather large demon holding a dainty parasol in one huge, clawed hand. Behind him were two women, Meg and Ruby, and then a huge hound scampering behind them. 

“Hello there,” said Crowley. Although he didn't have a microphone, his voice easily resounded throughout the room. “Don't mind me: I just have to collect on a few contracts.” Meg handed him three scrolls and he unfurled them with a flourish. Then, donning a pair of reading glasses, he parsed the first one. 

“What the hell are you doing here, Crowley?” demanded Metatron. “That wasn't part of the deal!”

“You dealt with this man?” asked Jess.

Metatron rolled his eyes. “Well, who hasn't done a deal or two with the Crossroads King?”

“I haven't!” said Jess. Sam, standing behind her, patted her proudly on the shoulder.

“Told you she's a goody-goody,” muttered Zachariah, to which Sam raised his wings.

“You cannot collect,” Naomi told Crowley.

“NON-DISCLOSURE CLAUSE!” bellowed Crowley. “Does no one read the fine print? Hmpf! I am collecting three rotten souls here.”

Metatron broke for an exit again. “Stop him!” someone yelled.

“Juliet,” muttered Crowley. “Fetch.”

The monstrous dog galumphed off after Metatron. It caught up to him just inside the exit. What happened next was not pretty. 

“Ooh,” said Dean, as well as a lot of the audience. Cas covered Mr. Fizzles's button eyes. 

“I said 'fetch,' not 'devour,'” sighed Crowley as Juliet came bounding back down the stairs. “No, it's all right my little princess. Daddy understands.” He patted the dog's head, and she gave him a bloody doggie grin.

“You gonna cooperate?” Ruby asked Zachariah and Naomi.

“He loves that damned dog,” said Meg, shaking her head.

With a puff of smoke, Zachariah and Naomi disappeared along with their demon escorts. There were oohs and ahhs from the crowd.

“All right, show is over,” said Crowley. “Now I need to get back home, fluorescent lights play hell with my complexion. That is, unless anyone else here wishes to make a deal?” He scanned around the auditorium, and fixed his stare on Rachel and Hester, who had been hanging around, probably waiting for their severance checks.

“May I interest you two fetching ladies in a life of service?” inquired Crowley.

Hester and Rachel exchanged a skeptical glance.

“Dissatisfied with your former employment? No glass ceilings in hell! That's what I say.”

Hester and Rachel shrugged and, as Crowley held out his elbows, each took an arm. “And how about you?” he asked Inias.

“I'm getting coffee!” Inias protested, holding up his cardboard tray as evidence.

Crowley rolled his eyes and looked around the room. “Remember, I'm just a crossroads away!” He snapped his fingers, and he, the ladies and his parasol attendant disappeared in a puff of smoke. After a beat, Juliet leapt into the cloud and did the same.

Someone in the audience got up and gestured for a microphone. “What are we going to do about the City Council now?” she asked. “That's a lot of vacant positions!”

Jessica stepped up to the microphone again. “I would suggest that we hold elections.” This caused a lot of muttering and discussion amongst the crowd.

“While you guys get that worked out,” Dean said, “I want to make one more announcement. I've gotta leave my job as Guardian.” The crowd muttered and some people booed. “No, no, but I'm leaving you in good hands. I'd like to appoint my successor, Sam!”

Sam gawked at Dean. “What? Really?” he mouthed. 

Inas was on the spot. “I have a mocha for the Guardian! I got it extra hot.” Sam grinned and picked up the coffee, and also grabbed one for Jess. Because she was his girl.

“Good luck,” whispered Dean. “And thanks for the boost!” He grabbed Cas's arm and led him out of the auditorium, while the crowd began to question the City Council.

Dean and Cas didn't stop until they were outside, where they stood under the small forest of solar trees that clustered in the patio near the main entrance.

“Wait just a damned minute you two!” Bobby called after them as he and Ellen emerged from the building. “You can't just go an quit your Guardian Angel job, boy.”

“Think I just did,” said Dean.

“I'm so proud of you!” Ellen gushed at Cas, which she emphasized by tight hug. 

“Ellen, no,” said Cas, who wriggled out of the hug. “I'm sorry, but I used my powers for harm.”

“You used 'em to harm a rotten City Council,” said Bobby. “Can't see anything wrong with that!”

“The world is very complicated, honey,” Ellen told him. “I've tried to teach you as well as I could, but that's something you'll need to find out for yourself.”

Dean grabbed Cas's shoulder. “I'm gonna give Cas a hand with that. That's my job right now. We gotta show him the world.”

Bobby scowled (he was good at that). Ellen slipped a hand on Bobby's shoulder, and his expression softened. “Well, I can't begrudge you that,” he told Dean. “Now, I think I gotta go, I've got a date with my girl.”

Ellen smiled. In twenty years, Cas had never seen her smile quite like that. And then they both – Ellen and Bobby – broke out the wings and flew off.

Cas and Dean stood for a while, watching them whip through the skies of Paradise. Finally, Cas said, “Dean, Ellen is Bobby's girl?”

“Well, it looks like.”

Cas paused. “I'm not a girl-”

“But you wanna be mine?” Dean asked, big grin on his face.

“Dean,” Cas confessed. “I don't know the song.”

Dean put a hand on Cas's face. “Well, we'll have to work on that, won't we?” He leaned in and kissed Cas, and then – he hadn't known this was possible, but his entire body was smiling. 

“What I wanna do, I wanna grab you in my arms and fly you off,” Dean confessed. “But I have this bum wing! I had to have Sammy give me a hand up to the balcony today.”

“That's all right.”

“So, let's walk back to my place, OK? We can look at all the cool cars that way, and watch the humans.”

Cas was smiling. “I think I would like that. Can we stop for a Pee, Bee and Jay?”

“There's something called a diner, we'll stop there and get stuff to eat. Trust me, you'll like it!” And with that, Dean took Cas's hand, and they walked off, both humming a tune.

 

They learned a few things on that walk along the Strip.

Cas liked Lincoln Continentals. Dean decided he was probably insane.

Cas liked sunglasses. The sun was awfully bright when you had been raised inside, but it was nice to feel it on your face.

Cas liked grilled cheese sandwiches as much as PB&J. Dean had to admit he was probably right about that one.

Cas liked beer. Whiskey was a little strong for him. But he liked coffee.

Cas liked when Dean moved a certain way, pushing up inside him, nudging that one spot that drove him to gasp and see stars.

This last was something they found out after their long walk, back at Dean's suite.

Afterwards, Cas sat cross-legged on the floor, wearing only a pair of Dean's sweatpants, contentedly preening Dean's wings. Dean had put them away during their sexual encounter, which Cas thought was quite sensible – they could get in the way. Perhaps they would figure out a way to work around the wings. Cas had promised to research the relevant pornography, which produced a very odd reaction from Dean.

There was a knock on the balcony doors, and Dean yelled for Sam to come on in. Sam blushed when he saw Cas and Dean for some reason. Sam tended to blush a lot. Cas needed to ask Dean about this.

“I suppose you'll want me to clear out of this place now you're the Guardian, Sammy,” Dean told him.

“Uh, no, actually, that's gonna be OK, Dean.”

Both Dean and Cas peered up at him.

“Um. Jess and I were talking about.... Uh, that is....”

“Sammy are you gonna move in together?”

Sam turned red as a beet. He sure did blush a lot! “Anyway, as long as you wanna stay here. I mean, if you guys wanna stay here.... It's all OK with me. With us!”

“I'm happy for you, Sammy.”

“So, you and Cas?”

“Dean belongs to me now,” stated Cas.

“Hey, hey! I thought it was you belong to me.”

“There is reciprocity.”

“How the hell you keep using words I don't know?”

“I cannot disavow ninety percent of my vocabulary.”

“Are you throwin' shade, Cas?”

“I do not have a parasol.”

“OK!” said Sam. “Anyway. Gotta go. Got stuff.” Sam began babbling, and nearly tripped and fell off of the balcony. Both Dean and Cas ran out to make sure he was all right – Sam managed to right himself and fly off at the last minute.

“Dumb kid,” laughed Dean.

“Dean?”

“Yeah, Cas?” asked Dean, after a nice kiss.

“Does this mean Sam and Jess will sing a song?”

“You're really obsessed with this song thing, aren't you?”

“Obsessed?”

“We gotta work on this. Give me some time, OK?”


	7. Chapter 7

_EPILOGUE_

_(This is the last dramatical bit so get out your Kleenex now!)_

Dean, with Cas cradled safely in his arms, alit outside a small building with a flashing neon sign that said simply, “Graceland.” 

“I am glad that your wing has healed,” said Cas, looking over Dean's wings. “Though perhaps they are due for another preening?” 

Dean blushed and put away his wings. “Maybe later. For now, come on inside.” He extended a hand. “I have something special planned!” 

Hand in hand with Dean, Cas entered the building. It looked like what he had seen of human places of worship in the films he had seen. “You sit down here,” said Dean, pointing to the front pew. “I'll be right back.” Cas sat down and waited. There was a bandstand set up behind the altar. After a few minutes, several smartly dressed musicians came and took their places, tuning their instruments and checking the PA system. 

Finally, Dean returned alongside a man dressed in a very elaborate, gold-bedecked jumpsuit suit. He had very exaggerated sideburns, and, even though they were indoors, wore a pair of dark sunglasses. 

_“Cas,” said Dean, his eyes bright. “Do you dig Elvis?”_

Cas scrunched up his eyes. His head listed to the side. 

“Hit it!” Dean told the musicians. The Elvis imitator leapt to the stage and, cradling the microphone like a lover, began to croon. 

___“Wise men say_  
_Only fools rush in_  
_But I can't help_  
_Falling in love_  
_With you....”_

Dean extended a hand, and Cas took it. 

As Dean gazed into his eyes, Cas stood. 

And then Cas stalked right on by a very surprised Dean. 

He marched up to the stage and beckoned to the Elvis impersonator, who ceased crooning and leaned over. “What is it, little man?” 

“I gather that you are The King.” 

Elvis grinned. “Well, you could call me one of the King's helpers, I guess.” 

“What is it, Cas?” asked Dean. 

“Although I am human, I was raised by angels. Ellen, Rufus and Garth. They were as different as any three beings could possibly be. But all agreed on one thing: Elvis is The King.” 

“Well, thank you very much,” said Elvis. 

“However, I find this particular song to be somewhat … lugubrious.” 

Elvis blinked in surprise, and then motioned his musicians to stop. “Uh, all right." 

“Might I suggest another number?” 

Elvis looked at Dean, who shrugged. The lead guitarist grabbed a laminated sheet that was lying on the amp and handed it over to Elvis, who handed it over to Cas. Cas scanned the list, and quickly selected an item. “I wish to hear this one, please,” he said, pointing. 

“Oh, that's a good one!” said Elvis, who was grinning wide now. “Can we do this one instead you think, boys?” 

There were hearty cheers from the band. The drummer counted down, and they launched into a much more uptempo song. 

__“Stop, look and listen, baby_  
_That's my philosophy!”_ _

...sang Elvis. 

_“ _Yes it is yes it is!”__

agreed the chorus. 

__“If your rubberneckin' baby_  
_That's all right with me.”_ _

Cas's head bobbed to the music. 

___“Some people say I'm wastin' time_  
_They don't really know_  
_I like what I see, I see what I like_  
_It gives me such a glow!”_

“You like this one?” asked Dean. 

“Yes, Dean!” agreed Cas. “Very much.” 

The chorus groaned. 

___“First thing in the morning_  
_Last thing at night_  
_I look stare everywhere_  
_See everything in sight.”_

“Well, looks like I'll have to teach you to dance,” said Dean, seizing Cas's hips and coming in very close, swaying to the beat. 

“I would like that, Dean.” 

_And so they danced...._


End file.
